Ghost Stories: the 4th Quarter Quell
by basicgay
Summary: "Ghosts in the shadow of firelight shine the brightest, brighter than sunlight or moonlight, brighter than starlight from galaxies away. Firelight dances on their paled skin as if a reminder, a plea: dance a little closer to the fire, where I lay, where I tell my story." SYOT: CLOSED
1. Ghost Stories

ghosts in the shadow of firelight shine the brightest,  
brighter than sunlight or moonlight,  
brighter than starlight from galaxies away.  
firelight dances on their paled skin as if a reminder, a plea:  
dance a little closer to the fire, where i lay,  
where i tell my story.

 _~ghost stories, by this bitch right here_

* * *

 **GHOST STORIES**

Isidora's face was warm when she woke up. Warm like bathing outside in the sun when she was younger, when she could afford to travel to beaches and shut her eyes with a cushioned folding chair underneath her. She had been hesitant when Eirene said she wanted the sun on their faces in the morning, having always been a late start, but the light woke her up gently, affectionately, placed its hands on her face and let her keep her eyes shut against it until she was ready to open to its warmth.

Most mornings anymore, she couldn't afford to be a late riser. A president had duties, and she couldn't afford late nights to make up for lost time in the day when she had meetings at eight in the morning or dinners that lasted well into the night.

Or this morning, for example, when a small box full of yellow envelopes would give a little glimpse into the future, and it was her job to be an oracle to the people.

Eirene was waking up with her, her body instinctively inching closer to Isidora's before she was totally conscious. After a moment, her eyes opened, little slits of icy cold blue revealing themselves. Isidora smiled and reached out, cupping her face, her thumb stroking across slowly. "Big day," she whispered.

Eirene's job would be influenced by today's findings, too, although of course she already had many things put in motion. A Game was not planned this quickly, not even on the year of a Quell when everyone was mostly anxious for the twist. But little touches could be added in light of it, of course, and she could see a glint in her wife's eyes already. She was hungry for the blood of the Games, and more than that, she was hungry to see all her hard work played out before her.

She was such a brilliant woman. Even though she was president, Isidora felt she paled in comparison.

They both sat up without a word, legs swinging over the side of the bed. Isidora traced a command onto her nightstand, and the responsive tabletop opened up the closet on her side of the room and revealed a tasteful, royal blue dress with black sides for her to wear at the presentation. Stylists would be here soon to do up her hair and make her look more presentable than usual for the cameras.

Eirene was already out of bed, not bothering to have their computers do the work for her. She sifted through her closet while Isidora opened the bathroom door to brush her teeth. Perhaps they weren't the most traditional Capitolites, adorning themselves in makeup that masked their faces and adjustments that altered them altogether, but their flair for the fashionable and eye-catching was not to be overlooked. Eirene's pantsuit for the day was a bright, lavish purple velvet. Perhaps dull compared to what the models in the Capitol wore, but sophisticated for a dedicated, older career woman. Or maybe it was just that Isidora was biased, and everything her wife did was beautiful, revolutionary, sophisticated. That could absolutely be part of it, but she was certain it wasn't all.

She tapped on her bathroom's screened space of the wall to tell the staff downstairs what she wanted for breakfast. Eirene had chosen the day before, so now it was her turn. It was something they both liked, anyway. It was supposed to be a very extravagant day.

She had heard of the parties happening surrounding the announcements downtown, and although she couldn't go to any of them due to business and age having sent her away from the more exciting parties, it still sent a thrill through her, reminding her of the days of her youth. She could remember the announcement of the last Quarter Quell, the year that the second rebellion began, and she had been at a party for it all. When President Snow declared that victors would be going back into the arena, a shock was sent through the crowd, a mix between fright at everyone's favorite victors being killed while they were in their prime, and a thirst to see this drama play out.

This would be the first Quell since the rebellion, since the districts ripped the Capitol's heart out once again. There was a little bit of revenge in everyone's hearts, and the wait couldn't seem any longer.

* * *

After breakfast and getting ready, Isidora was carted off to the part of the mansion where all of her announcements were always filmed. Eirene had business to attend to and left for a meeting with the other Gamemakers, all of whom were ready to start brainstorming ways to capitalize off of the twist as quickly as could be done in order to carry them out. Isidora made small talk with other officials who were there for meetings after she drew the Quell while she waited for the box to be brought out of its little vault in her mansion. She pictured President Snow in this position, in this very house, twenty-five years before. How revolutionary this house had been in history, bringing peace to the Capitol and attempting to bring prosperity to the stubborn, unworkable districts. She commended him on not saying, "To hell with it," and blowing them all away as sometimes she felt tempted to do.

Mr. Andaius, whose first name she could never remember and whose department was so frivolous she had to be reminded every time it was relevant, approached her with a wide smile on his face. His teeth were pointed as was the trend when he was younger. It looked so tacky, and normally she kept a very open mind with all of the altering trends that ravished generations in the Capitol. But she couldn't imagine actually carrying those in her mouth.

"President Luna," he greeted, holding up his glass of champagne as if to have a toast over their fortuitous meeting. He was always so dramatic in ways that irritated her, not in ways that she felt best represented the lavish nature of Capitolites. It grated at her skin, but she had grown so much better at holding her tongue since she decided at a young age she wanted to engage in politics. As a teenager, she would have been wont to toss her drink all over his fancy suit. "I imagine you're just as eager as the rest of us to know the fate of this year's Games."

"Of course," she said, with a polite nod, even as she found herself with wandering eyes. Searching for anyone she could run off to. "Mostly I'm excited for my children to stop asking if I know early, I suppose."

He laughed and put a hand on her shoulder, and it took everything in her not to shrug it off, although she felt she would have been in her right to. Where did this man find that it was within his power to just touch the president's shoulder? "I can't say I've been in that position, of course, but I know what you mean," he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. "My oldest daughter is the nosiest sort. Did you know she—?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Andaius," she said, smiling wider as she saw the cameraman motioning from across the room that it was time. "I hate to cut you short, but I believe it's nearly time." She patted him on the shoulder, wishing he could understand how passive aggressive she meant for this to be, and marched quickly off to the adjoining room before anyone could stop her.

The quiet hum of conversation quickly stopped as one of the sound crew hushed the officials in the room next door. She sat down on a lush red chair and someone carried the box of twists in to her. She wanted to rifle through them, see all possibilities that would never occur in her lifetime. What she would do for the Quells to just be a little closer together, so she could see more than perhaps two or three.

The camera began to roll and she gave her spiel, talking of the excitement of the Games, and the importance they held for the unity of the nation. And then she opened the box delicately. These ideas were a hundred years old, and something about that was so exciting. But there were some newer envelopes too, some that were added in light of the rebellion twenty-five years ago. She could tell the difference between those two kinds of envelopes, so she made a small show of looking away from the box to ensure a fair draw.

Her fingers danced through the paper, back and forth a couple times, before finally landing on one near her right edge of the box. She pulled it out, and it was one of the newer envelopes. Some part of her was almost disappointed, just for a moment. Every insight into the minds off the people after the Dark Days, the rebellion that had wrought nothing but pain on the nation, was a sliver of history that enticed her. But perhaps next time, if she was still president in twenty-five more years at the age of 75.

She opened it and scanned over the paper, committing the words to memory, before looking up into the camera with a smile to recite them. "For the Fourth Quarter Quell, the districts will be reminded that branding the Capitol as an enemy and acting on this mindlessness brings nothing but pain. As such, each tribute in the arena will be partnered up with another tribute of an enemy district, and these partners are not permitted to kill each other, on pain of death themselves."

* * *

 **hello this is the same story i had before but i remade it bc i wanted a quell, so all the already submitted tributes are still there. there are Many, Many, Many spots still open (including district thirteen) so submit submit! if you want to reserve a spot just let me know**

 **also feel free to send in cishets, but i just want to emphasize that diversity is important to me, which means more than lgbtq+ characters & also extends to characters of color & disabled or neurodivergent characters **

**the character sheet and a little explanation about the world is on my profile page**

 **you can submit up to 4 characters, but if you submit that many, the third must be a bloodbath. that being said, bloodbaths should still be fleshed out characters bc i'll still put effort into their pre-death chapters**

 **pls review i'm a thirsty ho and this girl isidora really loves her wife and she deserves a little praise for that**

 **have a grand day!**


	2. The Beginning

Bloodstains on the floor. A piano playing quietly from several rooms away.

The knife was wiped clean of its blood. So that was accomplished.

The Capitol was going to be painted red. It was going to be shocked and things were going to be _fixed._ Things were going to be better.

Bloodstains on the floor, getting bigger, seeping outward. The room was going to be filled with blood soon. Blood up to the ceiling, leaking out of the floor, dripping down to the room blow. It was going to flow, like a river, like an ocean, filling everywhere. God, the blood to be poured, the blood to be spilled, but in the name of something greater than all of this. In the name of something that would change the world as they knew it. Panem would never be the same.

This was only the beginning.

* * *

 **this is just a filler bc the chapters used to be out of order! but it does set the tone and is relevant to the subplot. but just in case nobody who's already past ch2 reads it it's not like. integral. it's just a filler!**


	3. Porcelain Doll: District One

they took the porcelain dolls out of the haunted hallway  
all the girls in pink lace dresses with little white shoes  
have gone to attics and basements  
and their ghosts have moved on with heavy hearts  
and the house feels a little lonelier now

* * *

 **Hall Silversmith (12)**

 _ **District One**_

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Hall let out the biggest sigh a twelve-year-old had ever sighed, and that was _quotable_ material, because if someone were to do the research, it would be easily scientifically proven. "Dad, why am I wearing this?" he asked, politely. Because his shirt was so uncomfortable it was killing him, but Dad didn't want to hear that he didn't like the clothes he sold. So he wasn't going to say _that._

His father looked down at him with disinterest, and then back at his watch. The last time he checked his watch was two minutes ago. Hall knew this because he looked at the car's digital clock last time, and just looked again. They weren't going to go any faster if only propelled by his father's impatience, but that wasn't going to stop him from tapping his foot the entire way to the District One square.

"You could get reaped this year, Hall," his father finally answered, when he again looked forward. He glanced at the driver, just a brief movement of his eyes, as if he was displeased with the man driving a safe speed down the road.

"I understand," he said, but he didn't.

His father paused for a long moment, and then looked down at Hall again. "And if you get reaped this year, Hall, you will have to walk up there."

"Oh." Now he really did understand.

"So everyone will see you if you're not dressed in our very best." He looked forward again.

"I'm not going to the Games."

His father smiled emptily. "No, but you would be onstage."

Hall sighed again, only this time it was internally. Now that he thought about it, the first one was probably pretty internal too, but he was sure it was still measurable by the advanced scientific methods of the Capitol. If a scientist swooped into the car now, they'd still be able to capture its unreleased energy hanging just in front of him, where he was supposed to physically sigh it out of the way. He imagined a little cloud of pinkish smoke in front of him representing how big the sigh was supposed to be. It grew and grew and grew and _grew_ —and then trickled away, finding the tiniest cracks in the car, sometimes even _microscopic_ cracks, and flew away in the wind. Now no scientists would ever be able to measure that ridiculous sigh left unsighed.

"How far are we, Antoni?" his father asked. Hall's head quickly jerked to the clock. Three minutes from when he checked his watch. He was getting more patient!

"Another thirty minutes, sir," Antoni told him.

Hall liked their driver. He was a very kind guy. He would always kneel down in front of Hall when his father wasn't around and would ask him if he wanted a surprise. He was a little old for this game now, but he _did_ still want a surprise. So he said yes, of course, and Antoni always drew out candy from the Capitol.

He had no idea how the guy got it. And it wasn't like his father couldn't get it for him, of course, but Hall never asked his father for those kinds of things. So it was a very exciting setup they had between them, really.

He leaned his head back and looked out the window. What Dad didn't know was that if you just weren't really in the car, the drive was a _lot_ quicker.

* * *

 **one year ago**

After each flash of light, the man behind the camera told him to move a little bit, to shift his body for a better position for a picture. His face was coated in makeup to make him look even more like someone from the Capitol than he already did. The pictures they took of him in District One were always really nice, but he never had to wear this much makeup back home.

"Good job, Hall," the cameraman said with a smile. He stepped away from the camera, indicating to Hall that the pictures were done. "There is no one better in all of District One to showcase your father's work."

Hall smiled up at him, but the compliment didn't really matter to him. He didn't think it was all that difficult to twist into different ways for people to see the clothes he was wearing. He had done it for three outfits today, so it was probably time for lunch at least. Or maybe they were even done. He knew that they had Capitolites modeling as well, but his father wouldn't come all the way to the Capitol without dragging his best one along with.

"Thank you, sir," he said to the cameraman. He was so interesting. He has big, garish pink brows and his beard flared out to the sides in the same color, but the hair atop his head was nonexistent. He didn't stand out any more than the others working with him, but Hall didn't like the color of his beard and eyebrows in particular.

"You're just the sweetest," the man said, reaching out and ruffling Hall's hair—Hall's hair that took meticulous work from the stylists. So that meant they were definitely done for the day.

His father came into the room after a moment and looked at the cameraman before he looked to Hall. "How'd it go?" he asked, a charming smile on his face. Hall had watched his father get out of a million different situations with his smile before.

"Great, do you want to see?"

They crowded around the camera, and the cameraman motioned for Hall to come over to see the unedited results. He did, and they did look like they'd make good pictures.

Dad looked down at him with a full grin on his face and even knelt down in front of him like Antoni always did. "You did good, son," he said to him, his voice so sincere that Hall was certain he wasn't acting. He felt himself fill up like a balloon and fly away with how happy it made him. He had worried this whole trip to the Capitol would be way more boring than the couple of other times he had gotten to go, but that just made it worth it. "Really."

He stood back up, keeping a hand on Hall's back. He was way too old and getting way too tall to kneel down in front of, but he would shrink a few inches and stay that small for the rest of his life to be able to travel to the Capitol and hear his father say that he had done a good job.

That was the funny thing about Dad. He could be so stoic and focused on his business, and just when Hall found it in him to hate even a fraction of him, he said something wonderful. Or Hall got sick, and he doted on him. It was the only good part about being sick.

They left the photoshoot and went to go get lunch. Dad and the cameraman seemed to be good friends, because they always came back to this guy. Even the second time they came, when they had someone else doing the shoot, this guy was there with Dad. Hall didn't know his name, though. He was sure he had learned it, but probably when he was halfway into one of his daydreams with how little it lingered. And the first time they came, he was only eight, so how was he expected to have retained anything worthwhile other than a love for the Capitolites and their candy?

The building was very plain, which was a letdown for Hall when he knew how exciting it was to eat up every little detail of the Capitol—their clothes, their accent, their candy, their buildings, their food, their lifestyle. He daydreamed about being born in the Capitol and always having hair dyed green, floating up in the sky when the brilliant Capitol scientists invent flying, and just seeing the entire city painted in cotton candy colors.

Once they were out on the street again—after the grueling process of getting changed and wiping down his face—that was where things got exciting. Lots of people had cars in District One, but none so extravagant as the ones that roamed down the light-blue-bricked streets of the Capitol.

And that was just this end of town. The road in front of their hotel got repainted all the time. When they first got there, it was two tigers in a brawl with each other, which Hall didn't like very much but it was very beautiful. When he woke up today, he ran to the window to see if it had changed, and it had. This time it was a rainbow over a woman in a pale pink, glittering dress. He felt like it was out of some Capitol program he had never watched, but he liked it a lot.

He looked up at the tall building next to him, which was _nothing_ compared to the skyscrapers in the center of the city. Everything about the Capitol took his breath away, from the way the buildings stretched their fingertips up to feel the clouds, to the beautiful and scenic outer edges where people lived with gigantic yards and no neighbors and inground swimming pools larger than some people's houses. He didn't think he would ever get enough, like he was hungry for sights in the Capitol more than he was hungry for food.

Except… he may have just been confused there, his growling stomach reminded him. He was definitely _also_ hungry for food.

The car they got into was bright purple with white streaks through it that looked like someone had blended white paint carefully in with a car-sized paintbrush. And this was just their driver's rented car to get to lunch! Their car back home was all black and bulky, nothing that made Hall _excited_ to go down the road!

The interior was leather and white, and so pristine it made Hall worried to breathe in case it tarnished how pretty it looked. Hall wasn't a car person either. But he was eleven, and this was wonderland.

Antoni started driving down the road after his father said the restaurant they were going to, and Hall stuck his head against the window, his nose just barely centimeters from the glass. If he wouldn't be reprimanded for it, he would roll it down and stick his head all the way out of it like a dog.

The further they got into the city, the taller the buildings got and the more people he could see walking down the sidewalks. People with purses, shopping bags, dogs on leashes, children on leashes, bright red hair, orange hair, green, yellow, big cloud hair and limp noodle hair, tiger and alligator faces, tattoos, piercings, big puffy dresses, pantsuits, jumpers, rompers, shorts—

"Hall," his father said, and the tone of his voice suggested he had said it a couple of times already.

He turned to the middle row of seats in the car where the cameraman and his father were. "Hi," he said.

Dad seemed to let his daydreaming go and smiled at him instead of telling him to be more in the moment. Which Hall would argue that he _was_ more in the moment. They didn't live in the Capitol. They should enjoy every little detail of it. "I was just telling Giovanni that you are excelling in art at home," he said.

"Oh." Hall nodded and looked at the cameraman. Giovanni. Why was it that out of everyone involved in their shoots, his father chose such an unfashionable, boring man? His face was interesting, but it got tiring. "I like to draw."

Giovanni nodded with a smile. "That's how it starts. He'll be a visionary before you know it," he told Hall's father. "Just like you, I suspect."

His father laughed. "I do hope so. I'd love for him to be able to come live here someday."

"Keep him down this track and the Capitol will have no problem with inviting such a smart, sweet kid in," Giovanni told him.

He wondered if that was true, or if it was just part of their small talk. He really hoped it was. He wanted to escape District One, where everyone meant well, but they could just never imitate the Capitol. And they spent so much time training for the Games, they weren't even concerned with how drab everyone was in comparison.

They were in the city now, and they pulled over in front of a skyscraper. His father and Giovanni got out first, and then Hall after them, who waved to Antoni before he drove away.

There was someone else waiting inside the building for them. This restaurant was very dark, everything black and deep red. The tables were a rich brown. It was kind of cool. Made him feel like a businessman like Dad.

"Hermes," the woman waiting on them said with a smile. The two of them shook hands and kissed each other's cheeks in greeting, and the four of them were guided to a table. "I guess you'd be Mr. Silversmith then."

It took Hall a few moments to realize she had been talking to him. He looked up at her and nodded with a polite smile. It was supposed to be funny, after all. Sometimes he felt like people hadn't stopped talking to him any differently from when he was eight to now, _three years later._ He was no adult, sure, but he was almost reaping age. And he wasn't even short. He was getting tall, like his father. But it wasn't worth it to be frustrated about.

The waiter brought menus over, and Hall looked out the window and watched all of the people walking by. He saw someone going down the street wearing a District Two shirt. It was getting close to reaping time. Last reaping before he would be going in. But he hadn't realized that people wore their favorite districts on shirts. It just didn't seem loud enough for a Capitolite to wear. But he guessed that the woman eating dinner with them was just wearing a navy pantsuit.

Eventually the people roaming by lost a little bit of his interest, and he wished he could be walking around the city himself. He started thinking about what it would be like if all the Capitolites knew him as a very famous designer, more so than his dad. A famous _Capitol_ designer. He imagined wearing big yellow feather boas over a sequined white dress, and big yellow-tinted sunglasses, his hair behind him in a French braid. If he exited the building like that, famous as ever, all the people on the side of the street would crowd to him, asking for autographs. The person in the District Two shirt would come back, frantically asking him to sign his t-shirt, and he would decline. So he would run to the nearest store that sold Games t-shirts, and would buy the best District One shirt he could find. And _then_ Hall would sign it, and be on his way, to his lavish apartment with gauzy black curtains and brick walls and shiny dark floors, where the kitchen and the living room melded into one, and the bedroom was exposed on a second story where you climbed a ladder instead of stairs.

His father and the other two were talking business and fashion in the Capitol now, and it was kind of interesting, but not near enough to stay in the moment. They didn't really notice that he was zoned out, so he spent his time crafting a world where he was rich and famous in the Capitol, and his dad could still run the business in District One and visit every once in a while like he already did, except then he would tell Hall how proud he was of him for carrying the business in the Capitol. He would wrap an arm around his shoulder instead of kneeling in front of him as if he was short enough for that, would say, _I wouldn't ask for anything else, son._

He was so lost in thought, it didn't seem like any time at all before their food was brought to them. Capitol meals were so good, even their chefs at home couldn't replicate some of Hall's favorite things here.

Bouillabaisse, toasted baguette with cheese, a bowl of grapes and cherries, and steamed white asparagus. All the adults at the table were drinking, which meant that Dad would let him have a little sip of whatever wine or champagne he was having. Hall couldn't tell the difference. He just knew some of it was disgusting but he always enjoyed the sip anyway, because Dad grinned and winked at him like it was their little secret, even when there were others at the table chuckling.

He dreaded going back home in a couple days. Nothing in the world was so bad here.

* * *

 **present day**

Hall didn't like the prick of his finger at registration. He was still resisting the urge to get rid of the cotton ball and suck on it instead. But that would probably be considered weird, and he was too old for that anyway.

He didn't recognize any of the twelve-year-olds around him. He didn't see a lot of kids his age, since his tutor taught him from home so that he would have time to model and watch his father run a business. But he did know one girl, Peony Shine Mills, who was also tutored from home. Her mother was nowhere near as successful as his father, but they were friends anyway, so he and Peony Shine spent a lot of time together. But he couldn't see her around. He realized he didn't even know if she was twelve yet. Maybe she was only eleven still. Or maybe she was already thirteen.

The collar of his shirt felt like it was restricting his neck, and the jewels on the edge of it itched. This really wasn't one of his father's best designs. It looked good, in theory, but in practice it seemed like a hazard.

Mayor Danilee was taking the stage. He was such an impressive man, standing 6'4 with broad shoulders and a deep, imposing voice. He never seemed scary despite his stature—to anyone, not just to Hall. He was a Career as a kid, although he never ended up volunteering or training anyone. Somehow he found his way out of training for the Games and into politics. That was what his father always said at least.

He watched him give the speech about the Treaty of Treason, which everyone quietly listened to out of respect. Hall had heard it enough times before, but it was kind of interesting to him. He didn't mind history, although some of it was really sad and hard to hear.

"The best of luck to our tributes this year," Mayor Danilee said when the mandated speech was over. His smile was warm and proud.

He stepped aside and sat back by the victors. District One's row was much fuller than some others, but after the second rebellion, his tutor told him that all the other victors were suspicious, considering how many turned against the Capitol. The ones who weren't executed or completely dishonored weren't allowed to mentor anymore, and mentors became strictly monitored and checked before being allowed to send tributes into the Games. Hall felt like that was a lot to go through for mentors, but he guessed that they were paranoid after the rebels got so far last time.

Lilith Angeline came onstage from the Justice Building, her arms outstretched in excited waves to the crowd as she hopped over to the reaping bowls, placed there as a formality. Hall felt like they were rigged to never reap the poor citizens, and they only kept the actual reaping in place to show off the young, future stars of District One, or the proud would-be volunteers who just weren't lucky enough to ever go into the Games.

As always, Lilith's entire outfit was white, like she was going into a wedding. She wore a big diamond necklace that sparkled as the sunlight hit it. It was kind of a cloudy day and he felt like it might rain later, but right now there was just enough sun to make it pleasant out here waiting in the massive square.

"Good morning, District One!" she said, her voice echoing pleasantly around the square. When she talked, it wasn't too squeaky like some escorts he saw on TV. It was just the pleasant sound of a Capitol accent, and a lot of spirit for the Games. "I am so proud to be up here, representing the Capitol for the _fourth Quarter Quell!_ " She spoke like there would be cheers, but that wasn't really the atmosphere of a reaping. It was more about the business of getting the volunteers up there. Still, he felt like her attitude was better this way than dull or sour.

"I'd like to thank Mayor Aurum Danilee for a wonderful reading of the Treaty of Treason, as always," she continued. "Now, for the fun parts! Let's start with the ladies, shall we?"

She went over to the bowl filled with girls' names, thousands and thousands of unnecessary names, and stuck her hand in. She unfolded the slip of paper once it was in her hands and read the name out loud and clear: "Morgani Jude!"

A strong girl stepped out into the aisle and walked confidently toward the stage. She looked fourteen or fifteen, and definitely like she would be a contender for the volunteer spot in a few years. Exactly why he thought this part was rigged. She stepped onto the stage and stood proudly next to Lilith. Even though she wouldn't be going into the Games now, it was still an honor to stand up there for a lot of people, Hall was sure, and probably a preview into this girl's future.

"Good morning, Morgani," Lilith said, putting a hand on her shoulder and smiling at her, baring her intensely white teeth. She looked back out into the crowd after Morgani nodded her head and said, "Now for what we're all waiting for. Any volunteers?"

A girl from the very front of the sectioned-off areas stepped out, having been ready for this moment. "I volunteer as tribute," she said, not calling it out, but loud enough that it could be heard. For all the people piled into the square, even if she had yelled, her voice wouldn't carry without the microphone. All that really mattered was that the cameras picked it up.

She replaced Morgani on the stage, the two nodding at each other as they passed on the stairs. Before Lilith could ask her name, she made a gesture to ask if she could say something, and Lilith let her in front of the microphone. "My name is Dazzle Carlton," she announced confidently, a smile on her face that he was sure would draw the people in. He had watched enough Games to pick up on the different things tributes did to appeal to the audience.

"Very exciting," Lilith said. "Let's see who your district partner will be, Dazzle Carlton."

She went to the other bowl and drew out a name. Hall felt like District One reapings were so bland. They were Careers, so the reaped never went, and there wasn't the tension and bloodlust that there was in District Two, where glares seemed to come from everyone in the crowd who wasn't on stage, nor was there the relaxed environment of District Four, where no one seemed to care if something went a little wrong.

"Oh, well, this is really a treat," she said before she read the name. "Hall Silversmith!"

Hall paused for a moment, and then quickly went out into the aisle and headed toward the stage. He held his head up high like he always did when he was modeling, making sure to look proud and like he knew what he was doing. He was representing the Silversmiths here, just like his father predicted he might. Even _more_ reason it was rigged! He was no Career, but his father was an important and well-known man, and his face wasn't unknown in Capitol fashion.

Once he was next to Lilith, on the other side as Dazzle, she looked over at him with a big grin on her face. "Now, I believe I know your name, don't I?" she said, and it felt like the times he imagined he would be famous and people would recognize him on the streets of the city.

He nodded and said toward the microphone. "My father is Hermes Silversmith." He scanned the crowd, wanting to see if he was making Dad proud. Eventually he spotted him, and saw his father's eyes gleaming.

"Well," she said, and there was more, but a loud _BANG!_ cut her off. Everywhere at once there were screams and Hall cowered back before he knew what he was doing.

Everyone was running. He couldn't see his dad anymore, except— no, there he was, running toward the stage, like he was about to get Hall! He took a step forward again, but then felt a hand on his arm and looked up to see a Peacekeeper looming over him, pushing him toward the doors of the Justice Building.

"Dad!" he screamed, trying to pull away from the Peacekeeper. He couldn't turn around and see him anymore, and then he was in the building and he could still hear screaming outside. This time coupled with gunfire.

"Are the cameras off? Are the fucking cameras off?" someone yelled in a Capitol accent. He realized he had tears in his eyes. He didn't want to be in here with people he didn't know when Dad was coming to get him. "What the hell are they broadcasting?"

"It's off! It's off!" a camerawoman yelled as she found a gun pointed at her by a Peacekeeper. In the front lobby of the Justice Building. "It's been off since the screaming, I swear to God!"

He was herded along and he realized that Dazzle was right along with him, looking extremely confused, and Lilith was in front of him. "What's going on?" Lilith squawked, sounding unlike herself.

Hall wanted to thrash away from them and go home. That had been a bomb, he knew what they sounded like.

They were led out back to a silver car and pushed in. "Congratulations, kid," a Peacekeeper said directly to him before the door was shut. "You're going to the Hunger Games."

* * *

 **so i'm gonna keep the d5 reaping where it is right now but go in order down the district lines from now on, and when i get to d5 i'm going to reposition & put a filler chapter in the chapter 2 spot so that nat's reaping is in the right order. if that makes any sense sjdflkdsjf basically when district 5 comes things are goign to be slightly wonky bc i went out of order **

**mr hall silversmith here is from _cantilatrix_ and he was a pleasure to write! i'm really excited about having such a different tribute for District One and having a plotty reason for why he's going instead of a volunteer! **

**let me know if you enjoy/what you maybe didn't enjoy and also if you liked the poem! it's by me & i feel like it really fits hall so i was very excited about it**

 **also i spent about 2 hours last night brainstorming ideas to make this games really exciting esp with the extremely lowkey twist the quell got and like... i got ideas babey... i'm very excited!**

 **there are still five spots left open!**


	4. A Bloody Jagged Smile: District One

**this chapter contains some sexual implications but nothing explicit... actually about as far from explicit as one can get but i thought i'd still put a warning!**

* * *

an empty beast lurks in the heavy battle armor of another age.  
her eyes are abandoned buildings and her fingers  
are icicles hanging from rooftops in the middle of a blizzard.  
her sword is jagged and bent and dulled,  
but her jagged smile is stained bloody red.

* * *

 **Dazzle Carlton (18)**

 _ **District One**_

 **one week ago**

Dazzle woke up to Onyx tracing patterns on the back of her neck. Her hair was everywhere, but he had brushed it out of way to write some secret message to her sleeping form. She stayed there just for a moment, her eyes open but her head turned away from him. Then slowly she twisted so she was on her back rather than her side and looked up at him with beaming eyes. "Morning," she whispered, like it was meant just for them.

The trick with Onyx was to make him feel special. He had a lot of say with the head trainer, having always been close to him when he was still of reaping age himself, but Prowess and Dionysus made him feel lesser-than, so when she started giggling at his jokes and touching his shoulder excessively two years ago, he fell for her without a second thought.

"You ready for today?" he asked her, reaching out and brushing her hair away from her forehead. The only redeeming part of spending so many nights sleeping with Onyx was that he wasn't an unattractive man. But if she slept with guys just because she was attracted to them and actually liked them, she wouldn't get anywhere in the world.

"That depends," she said. She grinned at him and then lifted her arms above her head, stretching out. She could feel her shirt come up and expose a little bit of her stomach and she stayed there for just a second, shutting her eyes like she was soaking in the moment. God, it was so easy to tangle him up in her web. He wasn't even a challenge like Prowess was.

"You won't be disappointed, Daz." He leaned in and kissed her, and then he sat up and stretched. The sun coming in from that direction made him look like an imposing silhouette, his arms reaching outward towards the walls.

He put a pair of boxers on and walked out of his bedroom, and Dazzle watched after him, knowing he was about to go make breakfast for her. He was annoying sometimes, but he had more than just sway with the head trainer. He had a lot of fucking perks, like not eating the shitty bread she got with her tesserae back home with her grandparents.

She sat up and wrapped the blanket around herself against the morning chill in his bedroom. He needed to turn the air conditioner down so she didn't have to wake up every morning freezing to death. Last time she mentioned it to him, he remembered to turn it down for her whenever she came over, but he must have forgotten this time. He was a warm-blooded guy and could probably survive in a tundra.

She didn't have the time to sit around in his bed until he made breakfast, and she knew this. She had to get up and shower so she looked nice for the announcement of the chosen volunteer this morning. But she couldn't drag herself out of the comfortable bed. She wasn't going to sleep with him the rest of the week, so she'd have to drag herself back to her own bed that night. And then it would be an entire week before the reapings. After that, she'd get nothing but soft Capitol beds for the rest of her life, but this week of tesserae grain bread and lumpy mattresses could kill her before another tribute ever got the chance.

After reasoning with herself for a few more minutes, she left the comfort of Onyx's sheets and went into his bathroom. She brushed her teeth quickly and then stepped into the shower, letting the water heat up before stepping all the way under it. The hot water pouring over her was practically intoxicating. When she was a victor, she had decided years ago that she would get one of those fancy showers with a million settings that her friend Wonder had.

Onyx poked his head in after a second and raised his eyebrows at her, a sly little smile on his face. "Care if I join?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes and motioned for him to get out. "If our breakfast burns I'll kill you," she promised him.

"Oh, come on. Real quick."

"Nuh-uh. 'Real quick' isn't worth my bacon."

"Lame," he said jokingly as he closed the curtain again and began brushing his teeth.

"Is this worth becoming the first casualty of the One Hundredth Hunger Games for?" she asked, poking her head out from behind the curtain for just a second.

He laughed and shook his head, waving her off like she was harmless.

She had actually dated his cousin when he was projected to be the volunteer for the Ninety-Eighth Games two years ago, one of the first times she went so far as to date someone for her status. It elevated her enough, from the useless girl who wasted everyone's time, to at least the girlfriend of a future victor. But then Titan had broken his leg in a training course a week before the reaping, and the second-best was sent in his place. They might have had a victor from One that year if it weren't for that.

But after that, she didn't need Titan anyway. Just getting herself known for more than "the girl who can kind of throw spears" was enough to make people see who she was. After that, she never really got better at her training, but her popularity and ranking steadily climbed anyway.

After her shower, she walked out to the kitchen on his cold tile floors. She had also slipped on one of his sweatshirts to fend off the cold, and had her arms on the inside like she was really protecting herself against a blizzard.

"Oh! Shit, I forgot the temperature again, didn't I?" he asked, going over to his thermostat and pressing the up arrow a few times. "You should've reminded me."

"I mean, I didn't really notice last night," she reminded him with a smile. She sat down at the island in his kitchen and leaned forward onto the countertop. The bacon and eggs were almost done now, and the smell was enough to carry her through the whole day. She'd take some back home to her grandparents if she could find an excuse.

It wasn't that no one knew she was poor. Her parents had made it a big enough spectacle when they went bankrupt, but it still wasn't something she liked to call attention to. She'd rather her assets be put on display, not the areas where she was severely lacking.

The bacon was as delicious as it smelled. When it was finished and he sat down next to her to begin eating, she pushed her knee up against his, not looking up to see the smile she knew was coming to his face. He never stopped smiling around her, and it was really kind pathetic. It was probably the whole reason he was never the chosen volunteer despite his massive stature and abilities. He was too sentimental. Of course, she herself seemed just as sentimental, but it didn't really matter what she _seemed_ like when she had everyone who mattered on her side.

"So who do you think the guy is going to be?" she asked, twisting herself a little bit to watch Onyx. He looked back at her, taking in the sight of her before he answered. She ran a hand through her still-wet hair, and she knew that he just ate that shit up. There were little quirks she had noticed he loved and she did them as often as seemed natural.

"Parker Lynd or Elyan Gratte are who I'd put money on," Onyx told her. He finished up his last piece of bacon and wiped his hands on his napkin. "But I think Gratte has Lynd beat."

Dazzle thought about the two of them. They were both at the top of their class. She had never really seen Parker Lynd before because he didn't live up in the city by the square, but she had heard of how good he was. Someone—maybe Wonder—had told her that he traveled to all the towns around him and hadn't been beaten by any of the contenders he found. But she had also seen Elyan Gratte in action, and he was an intimidating sight. A little hotheaded, but hotheaded made for Career pack leader. And it had been a good few years since District One had taken charge over District Two.

"You're probably right," she said, finishing up. She stood up before he wanted her to, and kissed his cheek to make up for it. Then she put his plate over in his sink and took some of the leftover bacon, wrapping it up in some paper towel and putting it in a baggy. "I'm taking this." She held it up in front of his face as she walked past him, and put it on the table in the living room so she wouldn't forget it when she was ready to go.

She sloppily put the rest of her clothes on in Onyx's room and came back out with her bag slung over her shoulder. "I should go," she said, and when his eyes betrayed how disappointed he was, she thanked God that she would only need to deal with him for another week. When she came home after the Games, she would never have to fuck with such a needy, _easy_ man again. Or fuck him either, for that matter.

Onyx stood up and came over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and looking down at her. "Okay," he said quietly, leaning down to kiss her. Then he reluctantly stepped away. "Don't be late."

She smiled and waved as she walked out of his door. As soon as the door was shut behind her, she let out a breath of relief.

The bus stop wasn't far from Onyx's place, thankfully. A lot of her life was contained in one little area near the square. The Justice Building for tesserae, the square for reapings, the Academy for school and training, Onyx's apartment, and her own all within a short distance of each other. It certainly made things easier, but the further-away Victors' Village still seemed more appealing by miles.

When the bus arrived, she got on and handed the fee over to the driver, taking a seat near the front so she was ready to jump off as soon as she got home. She didn't think she'd be late, but if she was going to skip the bus and walk to the Academy from home, she wanted to account that time.

Her house was nestled away from the glamorous District One's central city, hidden from the square but still within walking distance of everything important. The bus dropped her off outside the neighborhood, and she walked through the trees that lined the street as if to hide the shame of actually having _some_ poor people in District One at all, let alone somewhere that wasn't the outer towns and villages. She pulled her key out of her bag and rushed inside, dropping her stuff on the table by the door so she wouldn't forget it on the way back out.

Her grandparents were in the kitchen and she tossed them the bag of bacon. "What's this?" Fifi, her grandmother, asked, looking up at her with a frown.

"Breakfast. You're welcome," she said. She went back to the bathroom before they could say anything else and brushed her hair. It still looked like a mess, all the waves brushed out because it was still damp when she brushed it. So she French braided it out of her face and tied it off in a ponytail when she reached the base of her neck. Easier to manage that way, anyway.

She already had the dress she was wearing picked out—something formal and appropriate for being announced as chosen volunteer. She slipped it on and scrambled for her good shoes, the only heels she had that thankfully went with every boring dress she owned. And then she was back in the bathroom, touching up, making sure she looked all right.

Once she was satisfied, she let out a breath and took a second to calm down. All this rushing around had made her a little anxious. Ivory and Renee, two of the girls who were always hanging around her, were also up for the volunteer spot, and both of them had better marks than her by miles. They won matches, they were strong, they were incredibly skilled at weaponry. But both of them naively subscribed to the idea that they could just work out and not put any actual effort into this. That they could go to classes like normal, have all their little friends like normal, and still be cut out for the job. But still, they were threats that she had been working to undermine.

Onyx may have sounded confident earlier, more confident than if that shit was just about _believing in her_ or whatever, but she was still nervous. Ivory was really pretty and flirty in particular, although Renee was stronger and a better fighter. But _Dazzle_ was the best manipulator, and the only one of the three that actually knew what it took. So it was a close race, she was sure.

She couldn't worry about it. She just had to go and hear the results for herself. As she flew back through the little house, her grandparents stopped her. Couture, her grandfather, called out to her, "Come here for a moment before you leave, Dazzle."

She paused at the door and then turned away from it. She leaned against the doorframe leading into the little kitchen when she got there. "I'm going to be late," she told them.

Fifi smiled up at her. "They give a little leeway to the chosen volunteer," she said.

"You make this family proud again, Dazzle," Couture said, seriousness in his voice. Her parents had brought shame to the name Carlton, and she was the only person who could let it stay sunken and embarrassing, or who could elevate it back to what it should have always been, and beyond. She didn't have to be reminded of this, but the intense look in her grandfather's eyes reminded her exactly how much this meant to them, after they had done everything for her parents and had only been given another child to raise and debts to pay in return.

"I'm going to."

* * *

The office of the Academy was tense. Five of the top girls in all of District One, not just at the main Academy, were in this room, waiting to know which of them would be going into the Capitol before a week had passed. Ivory and Renee stood next to her, and their hands were clasped in nervous anticipation. Dazzle had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

The head trainer finally came up to them after a long wait that left Dazzle halfway convinced they were going to send Renee. He was looking between all of them as he said, "All of you girls have trained tirelessly for years, and I'd like to say thank you before we continue, for your hard work and dedication." He was just covering his ass so as not to piss of the losers, Dazzle thought. He wanted the best of the best for trainers, so he had to kiss the best of the best asses. Kind of like she did, but with less grace.

"That being said," he continued, "there is only one chosen volunteer this year." His eyes fell on her and her heart started to pick up. "Carlton, that would be you. You outshone all of our expectations of you."

Relief crashed over her in waves, and for the first time in a long time, she could breathe knowing that there were no more asses to kiss to get what she wanted. There would be in the Capitol, but that was for the prize of a lifetime.

Dazzle remembered to nod gratefully to the head trainer and shook his hand when he stuck his out toward her. He shook all the other girls' hands, and Ivory and Renee gave her disappointed but congratulatory "Good job"s. She nodded absently to them but was focused on the head trainer, wanting to know the details of the official announcement to the whole of the Academy.

Every year, they had to have speeches about the importance of following the rules, never volunteering out of place, how it was disloyal and immature to assume that any one person knew better than the whole of the Academy about who should volunteer for the Hunger Games every year. And normally it was just another speech that accompanied reaping season, but this year, she would be standing behind the trainers as Head Trainer Barelle gave the speech. It didn't seem so bad now.

* * *

 **present day**

There was a bomb in the square.

The moment it went off, Dazzle moved back toward the Justice Building, wanting away from all the people who suddenly started running around. Her eyes darted around for anywhere better to go, something better to do in the moment, but she was still supposed to leave for the Hunger Games today. The Justice Building felt like the only place to go. And then a Peacekeeper grabbed her arm and pulled her in there anyway.

The little boy who had been reaped so Elyan Gratte could volunteer was still being dragged along with her. She looked around in everyone's faces, and of course there were more pressing things going on, but she wondered how they would get Elyan when he had never volunteered officially. The Capitol didn't know that he was supposed to go into the Games.

The camera people started yelling, and then Lilith Angeline was yelling too, and a Peacekeeper was behind her, manhandling her again. She jerked her arm away and glared back at him. "I can fucking walk, thanks," she snapped. It wasn't like she was going to run away, or like she was the _cause_ of the bomb. She had no reason to do anything but go where they wanted her to go.

They were sent through the Justice Building quickly, with their escort in front of them. When she turned her head back for a moment, she could see Nicolette Dion, the mentor of District One for the past ten years, being brought along with them. They passed the elevators that took them upstairs and all of the offices, including where she went to sign up for her tesserae every year. Everything was gone in a flash, and then they were standing at the door and being prodded out of it toward the back. There was gunfire and screaming everywhere, and she wondered what the _fuck_ had happened that had sent District One of all the places into a frenzy.

"Congratulations, kid. You're going to the Hunger Games," one of the Peacekeepers said to the little rich kid who had been reaped. He shut the door and the car took off.

She looked back and saw another one following, which was probably where Nicolette and the other Capitolites were. Lilith was still panicking in the front seat, looking around with widened eyes.

It was hard for Dazzle to judge this situation when everyone was scrambling. She didn't know how to act, or how to react for that matter, not when none of it made sense and the kid next to her was fucking sobbing.

"They can't really let the reaped go into the Games," she said, leaning forward and looking over at Lilith. Maybe she wasn't composed enough to answer very well, but Dazzle still needed to know. Not because she cared if this kid was in the Games—he would be no different than the brats from the weaker districts. But because she stood a better chance with someone like Elyan watching her back. "Someone was going to volunteer. I know his name, I can give it to you—"

"We don't have time to make a stop," the driver said, shutting her up.

So they were just going to throw a twelve-year-old businessman's son into the arena. Yeah, they would see how _that_ worked out when he was killed on TV. She wouldn't be surprised if the designer, Hermes or Harry or whatever Silversmith, was already making calls to get his son out of this car and get Elyan into it.

This year was turning out to be a massive shitshow.

* * *

 **dazzle is from _paperairline_!**

 **side note i was reading my prologue again and first of all that bitch (past sydni) did not proofread it and i can Tell... second of all i said y'all could have 4 tributes but the Third must be a bloodbath? which doesn't make any sense i meant the fourth but it's too late now everything is almost closed lmao... i am a disaster gay and we all must live with the consequences...**

 **i love to personify death as pretty ladies in poems so when i thought about a heartless career like dazzle being a pretty lady i got so heckin excited to use one of my gay death poems... here is one of my gay death poems at the beginning of the chapter...**

 **i'm not sure i love how this turned out but i couldn't redo it more than i already did after staying up all night to work on it sjdfkjdlfk so i hope you enjoy! on to district two!**

 **also i still have one spot left open (D6f)!**

 **i totally forgot to say last chapter... antoni is absolutely a reference to queer eye & my avocado heart & soul antoni porowski... love those motherfuckers and it was a tossup between naming the driver antoni or karamo lmao **


	5. Windows to the Soul: District Two

try to peak around the dark curtains and heavy blinds.  
do you see? can you get a look?  
hide in the bushes outside and peer in.  
can you see the eyes through the little cracks?  
duck out of the way, you don't want to be caught.  
don't catch their gaze, you don't want to be seen.  
eyes are the window to the soul, after all.

* * *

 **Balder Stein (17)**

 _ **District Two**_

Balder Stein probably wasn't going to win the Hunger Games, but he was definitely going to be in them.

When he was ten years old, he remembered watching the Games with his parents, sitting in their living room on the floor. He liked to sit on the floor leaned up against the couch, or rolled up in the recliner in a way that made his parents laugh with how uncomfortable it seemed. But he could sit like that for hours, watching commentary and speculations about the Games. He would always have his favorite picked out from the beginning, his projected victor, which was something he started way back then. He had only been right once, that first year he decided his favorite was _going_ to win, but that didn't stop him from speaking with utmost confidence about his predictions until the moment the cannon sounded.

"Are you gonna be up there one day?" his mom asked him once, when they were watching the victor's final Capitol interview before going home.

He had nodded, smiling over at her with overflowing little-kid confidence.

"Good," she said, reaching over and ruffling his hair. "That's my boy."

Now that Balder was seventeen years old and the guy who was going to volunteer for District Two, the most prestigious district in all of Panem, he felt a little less like the ten-year-old boy whose eyes glittered with excitement at seeing his favorite tribute winning the Hunger Games. He felt a little bit more like a seventeen-year-old trained Career, whose view of the world was realistic, matured.

There were twenty-five other people who went into that arena, all of them vying to win. And he wouldn't have Neha Alexander's help this year, considering they'd both be partnered up with someone outside of their district. But he wasn't going into the Hunger Games to come out a glorious victor who would make some other District Two boy proud. He was going into the Hunger Games to make the ten-year-old he had stopped being proud.

The morning of the reaping, he laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling, tracing out the patterns in the dark brown whorls with his eyes. Since District Two went second, he was up early, but he didn't have to be there for a while still. And he was still thinking about it, about the fact that this morning was the last normal morning of his life. That last night was the last normal night of his life.

He did this all school year long, too, and every school year before that. When he was about fourteen, he started to play this game, watching all the eighteen-year-olds who were aging out stand at the ceremony to honor those who would be going into the Games. He always thought, _This was the last time they'll stand there._ He watched kids walk out from their final exams into a world where they then had jobs or maybe even college to consider, if they were lucky, and he thought, _This is the last time they'll take those tests._

Now here he was. Playing this game with himself. Because if he came back, he'd still have another year of school if he chose to go back to it, and he'd still have a life to live and plenty of firsts and lasts to count, but none would be as big as these.

This was the last day of his life, maybe. The Capitol and the arena didn't count for that number.

* * *

 **three months ago**

Vic and Lea were coming over to Balder's house while his parents were out in the city for their job overnight. Being important supervisor-type people, sometimes they had to go into the heart of District Two, and whenever they did, Balder always brought his friends over when he would be home alone.

Vic arrived before Lea did, coming in without knocking and finding Balder over the stove, making them all some pasta for dinner. His mom had left something in the fridge for him to eat, but she was not anywhere near an expert cook. So he found it easier, if he was in the mood for something actually _edible_ , to just make it on his own.

"Didn't know you could cook, Stein," Vic said, making Balder jump. That got a laugh out of Vic and he came over, patting Balder on the back.

"We've been friends for how long?" Balder said, in fake betrayal. He continued stirring the pasta as Vic sat down at the island behind him, reaching over and grabbing one of the apples his parents had laying out. "Where's Lea? You guys didn't walk over together?"

The two of them were next-door neighbors and had been since they were born. Balder had only known them since they all started training together.

"No, she had something to do before she came," Vic told him. He bit into the apple and leaned back against the bar chair. Balder set the pot of pasta aside after deciding it was cooked and pulled the strainer and three bowls out. "Look at you all domestic. Doesn't seem like a guy heading to be tribute at all."

"Oh yeah? More like a stay-at-home dad, huh?" Balder said, playing along.

Vic nodded gravely. "Oh, yeah. I think you should quit your job, man."

"You're right," he agreed, pouring the pasta into the strainer and then the noodles back into the pot. "You know, I never wanted to be a tribute more than I wanted to be a stay-at-home dad anyway."

"Good thing," Vic said, setting his apple down and getting up from his seat as Balder got cheese out of the fridge.

"It's still hot," he warned, but Vic was already ladling some noodles and sauce into a bowl, and sprinkling a copious amount of parmesan on top.

Balder caught himself watching him for just a moment, his eyes lingering on Vic's face, the face he'd known so well for years, that had lately started pissing him off. He shouldn't let it get to him. That would only make things more difficult.

It wasn't like he was ashamed of himself anymore. It was just inconvenient, especially at such a close proximity. Just last week he was genuinely considering telling Vic to fuck off to get rid of the problem. This was the year he really needed to focus on being volunteer, and as it was, he was on track. He couldn't let this little… issue get in the way of that.

But he couldn't bear to cut him out either. Cutting him out would also mean cutting Lea out, and it just wasn't worth it when all he needed to do was push himself harder, farther, do double the work with triple the shit on his mind.

Vic went back to his spot and Balder got himself a bowl and both of them something to drink. "Come eat in the dining room," he said, bringing their cups and his bowl in there. There weren't enough seats for all three of them once Lea arrived to eat at the island.

Vic groaned dramatically and sat down in the dining room with Balder, eating his apple while he waited for the pasta to cool down.

"Hey, how was that spar with—who was it with?" Balder asked.

Both of them were strong, capable potential volunteers, and while they wouldn't know exactly who was in top rankings until further along, they both had had a feeling that they were competing against each other. They didn't let it touch their lives outside of training, nor did they let their friendship affect them in training, but it had been in the back of both of their minds. If Balder couldn't go this year, he wanted Vic to be able to go and bring home a win, and he was sure that his friend felt the same. But it was still strange, both of them having this unspoken knowledge between the two of them.

"Doesn't matter," Vic said with an air of arrogance that was mostly fake and that he only put on when he was joking around with Balder and Lea. "I won by a landslide."

Balder laughed and shook his head, knowing that at this stage of the game, spars set up by trainers were meant to challenge, not to be won by landslides. "Somehow I doubt that," he said, resisting the urge to nudge him.

He used to be comfortable reaching out and touching him, patting him on the shoulder, moving in close to him when they were hanging out. That was before it ever became an issue, before Balder began to notice the way Vic's nose got bigger at the tip, like a little circle right there, and how it looked really good on the rest of his face. How his eyes were stupidly green. Now, brushing against him felt like it took Balder twelve steps back in his progress of erasing the crush that was slowly growing.

There was a knock at the front door and then it opened. Balder heard Lea locking it behind her as she called out for them.

"In the dining room," he said, loud enough for her to hear it.

He heard her say, "Ooooh," as she walked into the kitchen, and could see through the door that she was making her own bowl before she came in with them. "Who made this, Balder?"

"I did."

"Even better," she said. All three of them were well aware of his mom's less-than-spectacular last-minute meals.

She sat down next to Balder, across the table from Vic. "How are you two losers doing?" she asked, twirling the noodles up onto her fork and blowing on them as she waited for an answer.

Lea was small but elusive, and during the more fun drills the trainers sometimes organized to let off steam out in the woods, she would always kick the most ass because no one ever saw her coming at night with games like capture the flag. She always said she'd never make it in the big city of District Two, simply because she had heard they were stricter and never did organized events like that there. And she always said she owed all of her edge to her kickass capture the flag skills.

On top of that, she had an attitude that drew Vic and Balder in. She was blunt and forceful, like the wooden swords they practiced sparring with at times, and that was something that Balder admired about her.

It would be so much easier if he could just have a crush on her, but the thought of that just grossed him out. Not that he didn't feel that way about women, too, but Lea? Never.

"Well, this party sucks," Vic said teasingly. He motioned around the room, at all the nonexistent people at this party. "Everyone's having a shit time. And there's absolutely no alcohol to be found."

"Oh, there's alcohol," Balder said.

"Yeah, if we can find the key to the cabinet," Vic reminded him.

Lea looked between the two of them, and then rolled her eyes. "I'll find it."

She stood up from the dining room table and went toward the door in the kitchen that led to his parents' study, where the alcohol cabinet and presumably the key to it was hidden. He knew that his parents didn't drink much, which was why they had only been caught sneaking into it once, and after that his dad had started doing a much better job hiding it from them. Vic and Balder were absolute crap at looking for little things like that, so the last couple of times they'd hung out they hadn't been able to find it. But Lea was determined to do what the two of them couldn't manage—to "save their asses, like always," in her words.

"She's not going to find it," Balder said.

Ten minutes later, Lea came out of the study dangling a key in front of their faces, and in her other hand was a bottle of his dad's nice rum. "Leave it all to me, boys," she said, turning back into the kitchen and getting three sodas out of the fridge to pour the rum into. "You guys really never checked the drawers?"

It was best not to question Lea's powers.

She brought them all their glasses and Balder cradled his against his chest. With everything on his mind—his crush on Vic, school, his parents hounding him about his training progress—he felt like he could use just a little bit of relief. A little bit of tipsiness to forget how stressful things were. Maybe if he just had this one relaxed night, he could ignore the rest of it for the months leading up to the reaping. He could remember back to how fun this night was. Because if he kept letting it get to him, then he wasn't going to be chosen to volunteer. Volunteers didn't let stress get to them, because stress was what got them killed.

Lea let out a big breath after she took a drink. "Okay, can we just talk about how annoying Gianna Lancing is?"

"You're not even drunk yet and you're already talking shit?" Vic asked, grinning at her.

"No, listen to me," Lea said, setting her glass down and pointing at Vic very sternly. "She acts all high and mighty because she's got no friends. You know how she is! She acts like since I hang around you two assholes, I don't stand a chance this year."

Lea didn't like talking about volunteering that often. It was her last year, and he knew she'd be devastated if she didn't make it in. She had stopped talking to them during training at all, unless they were working together on something, whereas training used to mean working hard but also time to hang out with each other. Now it meant focusing, because Lea wasn't there to help them lighten up anymore.

"Well, I think it's the opposite," Vic told her. "You hang out with us and all our awesomeness rubs off on you."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up. No, really."

The conversation went on like that, picking people they hated and tearing them apart, and as they all started to lift off their feet a little bit, started to fly a couple inches off the ground with giddiness and giggles and loose tongues, it started to feel like this night could really be an anchor for Balder for the next three months.

At some point, when Balder's head felt like it was spinning very slowly, Vic said, "You guys remember that girl who left the Academy when we were fifteen?" And immediately Balder felt a little more sober, his heart hammering until it was stuck in his throat, lodged there by a moment of panic.

"What, the gay girl?" Lea asked, leaning forward at the table.

"Yeah," Vic said. "Yeah, I heard yesterday she's going to train kids down in Hart."

Lea rolled her eyes. "Everyone down in Hart is like that."

"I think it's a good thing," Balder said, his mouth moving before his brain decided to stop it. He set his glass down, pushed it aside since it was nearly empty anyway. And if this conversation went south, he would really just want to go to bed. "What'd she ever do? Kiss a girl outside one time? And suddenly everyone tells her to give up her spot. So she does."

Lea looked at him for a long moment, but he felt like that was partially due to her mind being a little scrambled. "I'm not against her," she said, turning away from him again. "It's just true."

"Yeah, whatever, Lea," he said. He looked to Vic and saw that his glass was almost empty too. "More or are we done for the night?"

"Let's be done for the night," Lea decided. She got up, grabbing her bowl and the cup she had the rum in. Vic was just looking between them, dazed by the minor confrontation there, so Balder sighed and grabbed his dishes to take into the kitchen with him.

He washed the cups and then put the rum back in the cabinet. The drawer to one of his parents' desks was still open, so he made the assumption that that was where Lea got the key from. He tucked it away in the little open spot it seemed to go in, and then went upstairs to his room where his friends had already headed.

They were both already in pajamas, lounging on the ground and talking quietly about school stuff. Balder grabbed a pair of pajama pants and went to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and putting them on. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, wondering what got into him. Well, the rum got into him, but the rum needed to learn to keep its lips sealed once in a while.

When he went out to his room, he sat down by where Vic and Lea were laying on the floor. "You two just going to sleep down here?" he asked. Usually, two of them slept on Balder's bed, which was big enough for it not to be awkward, and the third slept on the futon in his room. When his parents weren't there, Lea had to sleep in the guest room and Vic slept on the futon, though.

"We're just talking," Lea said, everything already forgotten, or so it seemed from the tone in her voice. He looked at her for a moment, and she looked back, and there was no animosity. No frustration from her. If she was angry, she would dwell on it, and then maybe she would make connections. So her already being over it sent relief through him, and he felt like he could be comfortable again.

"Okay, I'm exhausted," he told them. He stood back up and crawled into his bed, wrapping a blanket around him. He was a blanket hog so whenever the two of them slept over while his parents were out, he always brought up an extra blanket just for his bed so they wouldn't complain about how he stole the covers.

He looked down at his friends, still talking quietly, and drifted off before he could make out a word of it.

* * *

 **present day**

There were rumors that someone was going to volunteer in his place. He had no idea why—sometimes people just got this idea that they knew better than the Academy, and they were going to say fuck it and do what they wanted. It had always pissed him off, but never so much as during _his year._

Vic told him about it the moment he found Balder at the square. They had both driven up there with their parents for an hour, and then they hear this shit.

"I hear it's Tyler Walbeck," Vic said as they waited in line to have their fingers pricked for registration. Balder was looking all around for the bulky kid who was apparently going to fuck everything up for him.

"Next."

He stepped forward, saying quickly, "Balder Stein," before turning his attention away from the little machine that drew a bit of blood. The person at the table said something to him, but he was elsewhere.

He saw him heading towards the eighteen-year-old section in the front, and immediately he was on the move. Vic wasn't even done getting poked before he was at the guy's heels, grabbing his attention by stepping around him so he couldn't get into the roped-off area.

"I heard you're going to volunteer, Walbeck," he said, standing up as tall and as intimidating as he could. His anger helped to carry him. "Funny, it sounded to me like they announced my name at the ceremony, you know."

"None of your concern, little man," Walbeck said, grinning and laughing when his friends started up.

He wasn't any shorter than Walbeck, nor was he that much weaker. It took everything in him not to start a fight right there, in the middle of the square. "I swear, if you take my spot, I'll kill you in the Justice Building," he snapped at him.

There was nothing else he could do without causing a scene. It was too late for challenges, and it would be ridiculous of _him,_ the current volunteer, to challenge someone else for the spot he already held.

He would just have to be faster. He was good at that.

The time it took to get formalities out of the way was agonizing. He listened to the Treaty of Treason from the mayor and every single word seemed to drag on. The longer this went, the more off-guard he could be if Walbeck wanted to jump out in front of him.

He had never wanted to be eighteen more in his fucking life.

Finally, the escort stepped up to his spot on the stage. His lion theme was still going strong, with fur around his face, and his suit jacket was sparkling and glittery. The sun jumped off of it straight into Balder's eyes, and he shifted a little bit to get a better position away from it. Vic looked over at him, seeming just as anxious as Balder was feeling.

He looked up at Markus, silently begging for him to let the guys go first. He needed this out of the way before the stress took him out right there in the group of other seventeen-year-olds. He saw Lea in the back of the eighteens section, continually glancing toward him to see if he was ready.

"Let's begin with ladies," Markus said, his s's hissing and clashing against the rest of the word like they were both running in opposite directions. It nagged at Balder's entire being in a way that he usually didn't mind, having never found any reason to hate the Capitolites other than their extravagance. And that was really not something he could blame them for, anyway. But right then, he found himself hating all of the Capitol for producing Markus, who chose to do ladies first, and let Balder suffer.

He drew the name of some sixteen-year-old girl, and as always asked for volunteers before she even bothered to walk up to the stage. He had never understood why District One always followed the reaping traditions so closely, but District Two forewent everything that wouldn't interfere directly with the nature of things in order to move it along. They all knew the outcome every year.

"I volunteer!" Neha Alexander, _his_ district partner, called out with ease and confidence. She had nothing to worry about, nothing to fear in being collected with her volunteering.

She mounted the stage and approached Markus, announcing her name for the Capitol and everyone who wasn't already aware of who was chosen that year.

Everyone would ostracize Tyler Walbeck for going against the order of things, or for even trying to, but if he made it before Balder, there was nothing they could do about it. And he would receive some blame, too, for not being ready enough, for not being good enough. Maybe not from the Academy, but from his parents' eyes.

Pleasant exchanges onstage were had, and then Markus was back to the bowls for the reaping. Balder was barely within the boundaries of their section anymore, inching out towards the aisle. The moment a name was called and Markus met eyes with the crowd, before the word "volunteer" was even on his lips, Balder leaped out into the aisle and called, "I volunteer!"

His eyes went to the section ahead of him. Walbeck looked like he had been inches away from calling out as well. Balder was dizzy with rage.

He walked up to the stage and put on a smile for the crowd.

"Very eager, I see," Markus commented, with a smile in his direction.

Balder nodded, a little too shortly considering how many cameras broadcasting live to the Capitol were on him. He told himself to calm down, focus on what mattered, focus on his success. Focus on the little things, like that night three months ago, the night that had kept him driving along to this day and this day only.

"I'm Balder Stein," he said into the microphone, and he looked out to the crowd with a little more determination and a little less barely-avoided panic.

"Congratulations, Balder," Markus said, and with a flourish he stepped between the two of them and put a hand on either of their backs. "May I present to you, District Two's tributes of the Fourth Quarter Quell!"

Everyone began to clap as he and Neha faced each other, still with Markus in between them, to shake hands. He looked into her eyes, and for the thousandth time since the Quell announcement, he was annoyed that they wouldn't be fighting together.

But at least he would be fighting at all.

* * *

 **balder is from _Writer207_! i hope i portrayed his character well. it was a lot of fun and i felt like it challenged me a little bit bc there were like 3 different scenes i considered writing for him and none of them worked so it took me a while to come to this chapter**

 **all the spots are closed wahoo!**

 **so right now the chapters are going to go in district order for the rest of the way, and after district 4 and district 9 there'll be sort of intermission chapters with some out-of-games shit**

 **i'm going to set up a sponsoring system as soon as i have time to which reviews will factor into. as long as i like,.,,. follow through bc i'm indecisive about it, but yeah for right now reviews will be counted toward sponsorship points when the games come around**

 **let me know if you enjoyed the chapter!**


	6. Collision Course: District Two

the universe was made the same way she breathes:  
one big collision, and soon there's life  
and you wish she'd see  
she's as integral as the sun  
or as the rocks that made the earth.  
she's an ocean and you're willing to drown.

* * *

 **Neha Alexander (17)**

 _ **District Two**_

 **four days ago**

Neha had rooted for her boyfriend in everything since the moment they became friends. She watched match after match, spar after spar, and every time she was sitting on the sidelines, he had a fan at his side. But this time, with two wooden swords flying and the fate of the One Hundredth Hunger Games on the line, she hoped more than anything else that he slipped up. That the Stein guy won.

Lars hit the wooden sword out of Stein's hands and he was sent scrambling back with no time to pick it up. He was faster than Lars and got around his swings, although he let out a pained breath loud enough that Neha could hear it from where she was watching when Lars hit him on the side. She tilted her head to the side, knowing if he could just get slightly to the left of Lars, the side that he always left a little exposed, Stein could land a blow that would knock him down, or at least knock the sword out of his hands and put them on an even playing field.

She had asked Lars to turn the volunteer spot down. She didn't know if she would make it next year, with some of the girls who were turning seventeen and therefore made eligible to volunteer. So she felt a little selfish when it was Lars's last year, but she had already been picked. The trainers hadn't been certain if they should choose Lars or Stein. And he had said they could just decide to fuck off from the Careers or whoever their non-district partners were, if it came down to that. And they'd just win together.

But Neha couldn't take the risk. She was going to come back home to him this way. She didn't want to have to worry about bringing him home with her.

Finally Stein sidestepped out of Lars's range of attack, quickly moving around the sword's swing, and was given an opportunity to strike him. He landed a pretty good blow to his jaw, and Lars stumbled from the surprise, having not realized that Stein had gained an offensive position. He ended up dropping the sword as he ran into the ring's edge, and before he could grab it, Stein hit him again, pushing him away from it. He didn't risk leaning down and letting Lars take the offensive again, instead working to drive him back into a corner where he couldn't get away.

Her hands were clasped tightly, fingers squeezing against each other. _Come on, Stein,_ she kept whispering to herself silently. _Come on._

Lars wasn't giving up. If he didn't surrender, Stein would have to incapacitate him somehow in order to maintain his position. He was quick, but he wasn't overly strong. It would be difficult for him to land any meaningful blows without a real weapon. Lars was clunkier and didn't always land well, but the ones he did packed a punch.

"Oh, come on," Terra said as Stein hit Lars again. Neha glared over at her. Her twin knew well how little she wanted to see her boyfriend in the Games with her, especially these Games. "What? I know we're rooting for the other guy, but I can't in good conscience cheer for him hitting Lars in the face."

"Yeah," Neha mumbled, knowing that it was pretty shitty of her to hope that her boyfriend got a little beaten up, that he lost his chance at volunteering forever. But he could be a trainer if he wanted to be. He could still exercise his strengths as a Career, without ever going into the death match, especially with Neha.

Finally, Lars began to slow down even more, relenting, and Stein went to town. He took advantage of every slow step to the side, every falter in Lars, and soon her boyfriend was holding his hands up in defeat. Raising a metaphorical white flag. People with bigger egos might have really kept going until Stein managed to knock them down, but Lars knew when he'd been beat.

He came out of the ring with a busted lip, a bloody nose, and bruises all over. Balder Stein stepped out of the ring victorious, but he didn't look any better off than Lars did. Neither of them did any real damage to each other, though. It wasn't uncommon for people to get seriously hurt in challenges. Very rarely did someone get killed in a match, but it had happened before, and the killer wasn't punished for it. Just sent off to the Games.

Neha rushed to Lars's side when he was out of the ring, bringing over a towel for him to put under his nose. He winced as he did, glancing back at where trainers were praising Stein on his win. They would come over soon and tell Lars he had given it a good shot.

"You okay?" she asked. "Nothing hurt too bad?"

He shook his head, waving her off to go get cleaned up on his own. She knew he wouldn't be angry long, but he had no misconceptions about who Neha was rooting for in that fight. It had to hurt, even if he did understand her reasoning.

She sighed heavily and looked to Terra, who seemed very awkward in the moment. She gave her a little thumbs up. "He'll get over it. I think you're right, anyway."

"Thanks," she said as they walked out of the match room, her face blank. It was easier to put on a mask than to show her guilt.

* * *

District Two's Victors' Village had far more houses than it had families. After the Victor Purge, a new slate of victors had started, with all the villages going empty for years afterward. She had heard in history and from Judah that District Two's used to have more than just seven victors in it, but even with that number supposedly being low, it was the highest in Panem.

She walked through the gates into the little community where the sidewalks were bricked and looked old—not old in a worn down way, but old in an antique way. The houses were all ornate and beautiful, the best of the best in all of District Two. She loved coming here, and now that it was so close to her reaping, it felt like she was previewing a little bit of what her life would be in the future.

She knocked on Judah's door and the victor of the 87th Hunger Games opened it with a smile on his face the moment he saw who it was. "Neha," he said, stepping aside for her to come in. It was more common for them to go out to lunch after training, but she had been to his house before.

He had trained her since she was little, her parents looking for someone spectacular to bring their daughters into the life of a victor like he was, and he had been the only one to accept the offer. A lot of District Two victors were still involved in training, but not all of them were willing to personally help a family, especially not for nothing like Judah did.

The older she got, the more she thought Judah just wanted some friends. He was still close with his district partner, Parker Huang, who lived just next door to him. They had always seemed like a good, genuine person, but Neha had never spoken to them directly. Other than them, though, she didn't know anyone in the district he was close to. Maybe there was someone in his hometown, but he never visited. He was kind of an enigma Neha and Terra were always trying to unravel.

"What brings you here, my little Career?" he asked as she stepped inside and over to his kitchen. She pulled herself up onto the counter and swung her legs as she got his Capitol desserts out of the top cabinet. She had found out where they were hidden the second time she was ever there, and he had just never gotten around to changing the spot. He said he was mostly hiding them from Parker, who never bothered to order their own.

"You're ordering me a new box if you're going to eat the last of my cookies," he said, pointing at her.

She rolled her eyes. "I think you're good for it," she said.

"You're ignoring my question," Judah said, coming over and pulling himself up to sit on his own counter a few feet away from her.

She looked over at him for a moment. He could read her better than anybody, except maybe Terra. Even Valda didn't know how to tell how Neha was feeling as well as the victor did. The two of them just clicked. She felt like she knew him better than anyone in the world, too. She knew how he had nightmares all the time, how he considered her to be a little sister, how he worried that Parker felt more guilt for what they did than they ever let on and just immersed themself in District Two's life and culture to bury it all.

Neha had thought that that one was ridiculous. Parker couldn't be blamed for killing the tributes in the arena. It was part of the Games.

"You're upset, Neha, just tell me why," he insisted.

She let out a breath and looked down at her lap. "Lars is upset with me," she finally told him.

"And why is that?" Judah asked.

She shrugged. "He lost his fight with the volunteer. And he knows I wanted him to. I know he'll be over it soon."

"But you feel badly because this is his last year, and it wouldn't be yours," he added, filling in the rest of her thoughts without her having to explain. She nodded and ate the last of his cookies as she waited for him to give her some sort of advice.

He had already asked her to leave it behind as many times as she had asked Lars to give up the volunteering position. He worried about her ending up like Parker, she would guess. He always said he didn't want the Capitol to mistreat her, but she didn't even know what that meant.

"Neha, there's nothing you can do now," he said. He smiled at her. "You shouldn't feel this way. It's your spot, as much as I have my own reasons for wanting it otherwise. And he'll understand this, especially when he becomes a very rich victor's husband."

She smiled a little bit, feeling a little flutter in her stomach at the mention of marrying Lars.

"I think it's more than all that," he said. "I think you're just nervous. That's normal, Neha." She shrugged, unwilling to comment on something that deep under her skin, even with Judah. He was good at supplying the words she didn't want to say, anyway. "I trained you, and I won, didn't I?"

"I'm not worried," she said, but that was a huge fucking lie. She had no desire to die. But this was what she wanted, more than anything. If she won, Indira and Aden, her little siblings, would never have to. If she won, Terra wouldn't have to vie for the spot of volunteer next year, when they knew that she would never be skilled enough for it.

"Well, good," he said. "Worry gets in the way of your decisions. Whenever you're worried, think of how I've pushed you."

Judah had a habit of telling her to pick herself up whenever she started to quit on him. Ever since she was old enough to begin training and her parents had forced the twins into it, he had been pushing her to her limits. Every time her arms gave out in the middle of pushups, she was told to pick herself up and do five more. To focus on the next one, and only the next one, five more times. It would be nearly impossible for her to ignore the little voice in the back of her head telling her to pick herself up if she got down in the arena.

And that was what she needed to do now. She shouldn't be running away from Lars, not in the last four days she had in District Two.

"Thank you, Judah," she said, hopping down from the counter and heading toward the door quickly.

"When you win, I'm holding you to that last cookie, Neha!" he called after her, and she shook her head with a grin as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

When Lars opened his door to her, it looked like a hundred expressions crossed his face. The beginning half were all upset, before transitioning to something more similar to acceptance. He stepped aside so she could come into his apartment.

"I'm not angry," he told her as soon as she was inside. She looked at him, her brows knitted together in concern. He said that, but she wasn't sure he fully meant it. "Hey, I'm not." Lars stepped close to her and put his hands on her waist, looking down at her until she met his gaze like she knew he was waiting for. "I was a little frustrated after the challenge, but if it seemed like I was angry with you, that's on me."

She let out a breath. Even if part of him was upset, he would get over it. So the fact that he seemed to forgive her for wanting his dreams and all of his training to go to waste made her feel better. Lifted a weight off of her shoulders. She felt herself relax from the tension and reached up to put a hand on the side of his bruised face. She leaned up to bring a little kiss to his lips.

After that, he stepped back away from her and held his arms out, presenting her with the bedraggled, beaten-up aftermath of a challenge. "How do I look?" he asked with a smile on his face.

"Hey, at least Stein'll be sporting a black eye to the reaping."

Lars nodded. "You're right," he agreed. "You're very, very right."

Neha stepped further into the apartment, taking Lars's hand as she went past him to guide him over into the kitchen. For a moment it seemed like she was taking him into the living room, perhaps to the couch to watch whatever was on TV mindlessly and cuddle, so when they walked past it, he got a puzzled look on his face until he saw their actual destination.

"Oh, I see," he teased her. "You come over here to make sure I'm not upset so you can raid my cabinets."

"Well, I already raided Judah's today. It's someone else's turn," she said.

She went into the fridge and looked around for something she could have, but there was nothing made. Ever since Lars moved into his own apartment, it had become increasingly difficult to steal all of his food, because he never kept anything stocked and never had leftovers.

"Guess we'll just have to make something," he said, leaning around her. He pulled chicken out of the fridge and handed it over to her with a sheepish smile.

"You wanted to go to the Hunger Games, but you can't even cut your own chicken," she said jokingly, kissing his cheek as she took it from him and went over to the counters.

Lars's family had more money than the Alexanders by miles, although they were nowhere near successful. Just average in District Two, so Lars could afford things like nice food and his own apartment. He could afford to wait until he was eighteen to challenge for a spot to volunteer.

She started preparing the chicken while he got out some vegetables to cook. He was actually pretty good at cooking for how much it seemed like he wouldn't have time for it. He was always training like she was, and on top of that he was really good in school, too. Sometimes she saw Careers slipping behind at school because they cared more about training, but that was never the way it was for Lars. That was something that had always made her proud about him.

His kitchen wasn't that big, so they kept stepping over and glancing at each other's work, playfully bumping into each other, and at one point Lars started singing a song that was popular in the Capitol a few years ago, one that absolutely drove Neha nuts, but with him starting to belt it out as loud as he could, she couldn't help but laugh and sing along with him.

* * *

 **present day**

Her parents, Aden, and Indira came in first. Indira hugged her as soon as she reached her, squeezing like she wasn't ever going to let go. Neha shut her eyes. She knew that Terra would watch out for her, but it was still hard to think that she wouldn't be there in her life for a while. Neha had always looked over her since she was maybe twelve and Indira was eight. That was when she first realized that she was more than a hyper ball of energy to keep an eye out for—she was also just this really awesome person, no matter how often Neha wondered if she would ever stop whining.

When they pulled away from the hug, Indira asked, "When you win, can I join the Academy?"

She had been begging Terra and Neha to let her for a couple years, and they always turned her down. The Academy just wasn't a place she needed to be. If she really wanted to train, it should be with Judah outside of the school, but they'd never let her volunteer anyway.

Aden, however, they couldn't stop. Her parents let the girls run loose, so long as at least one of them was on the track to success. But their only boy—he was the one they kept their eye on. He was the one they believed in.

"You won't need to when I win," she told her little sister, and her eyes went up to her parents. They'd love it if they could rise out of their status with one victor, but they'd love it even more if they could do it with two or three. As if luck would ever grace any family that well, even one made up of Careers.

"Neha!" Aden said, crashing into her when Indira stepped out of the way. She grinned down at him, her attention torn from their parents, who were saying something quietly to each other by the doorway.

"Hey, buddy," she said, patting the top of his head. She knelt down in front of him. He was starting to get a little too tall for that, and she could tell one day he'd be as tall as their dad. "Listen here. You be good for Mom and Dad, and always listen to Terra."

"You didn't tell that to Indira," he said, but she knew that he would take her word to heart.

"Well, Indira's out of control," she said teasingly, looking over at her little sister's mock-offended face. "You're a little more reasonable, aren't you, bud?"

He nodded with a proud grin on his face, and she tugged him into another hug. She knew they'd have to leave soon. There were more people she was going to say goodbye to, assuming they all showed up.

Neha stood up again and turned to her parents, wondering if they'd say anything at all before they left the room. She wondered if Indira had to beg them to come into the Justice Building. She wondered if they would care about anyone other than Aden when she came home. But she had learned a long time ago that wondering about her parents was just tiring, and the most she could be grateful for was the fact that they put food on the table.

"Neha," Val, her father, said. He motioned for her to come over, which gave her pause. The last time they had even given her a lecture was when she said she didn't want to train with Judah, years and years ago. She looked back at her siblings before approaching Val and Karima with her chin held high. She had volunteered today. She didn't have to hope she'd make them proud anymore.

"You'll come home," Karima said, perhaps one of the first full sentences she had said that didn't relate to watching her siblings or chores in months. "Terra isn't tribute material, and Indira didn't start training soon enough. So you'll come home."

"I'll come home," she said, and wished she could add, _but not for you. Not for either of you. For Terra and Lars and Indira and Aden and Valda. For Judah. For the smell of the square as she walked to the Academy, when the bakery was open and it wafted around the street, doors always wide open to draw everyone in._

"I'd like you to leave now," Neha decided. She saw that Val was about to say more, give her instructions, tell her further what to do. But she just wanted to see the others before she left. She didn't need another moment taken up by them.

She went back to Indira and Aden and gave them both a big hug at the same time, drawing them into her arms and squeezing her eyes shut. Her heart was taken by an invisible fist and squeezed, already aching like they were out of the room. She hoped these Games would be quick.

She watched the four of them leave the room. Val had a hand on Aden's back as he guided him out, but Indira left behind them, looking back at Neha and waving before she was out the door.

Neha sat down on the couch and leaned her head back against the cushion. She kept reminding herself that Terra would be there for them, Terra would make sure that their parents didn't grind them down. It would only be a little while before she was back, anyway. But it hadn't taken long before the training and the apathy ground her into obedience at their ages.

Terra and Valda came in next, sitting down on either side of Neha. She opened her eyes when she felt the cushions sink down and two pairs of shoulders leaning against her on either side.

"How were they?" Terra asked. "I passed them outside. They didn't say anything."

They spoke even less to Terra than they did to Neha. She knew it tore at her. She had managed to hold up against the strain of the Academy, and all of the little ways Careers pushed down their anxieties and sadnesses were lost on her.

"They were okay," she told her. If they had more time, if Terra had the opportunity to dig at her, she could probably get how Neha was feeling out of her. She was the only person in the world she told everything to. Even Lars was left out of some things—namely just the fact that she liked to talk about the dorky quirks he had to Terra sometimes. Only the two of them knew about her crush on Hailee Watter before she dated Lars—not even Valda had ever heard that one.

"And how are you, girlie?" Valda asked, nudging her with a grin. She pulled her knees up onto the couch and faced her like they were at a sleepover. "You're gonna do great, Neha. You looked awesome up on the stage."

She shrugged a little bit, but it did make her feel good to know that she was doing well. Even if all she had done so far was walk up to a stage and tell the people her name. "I'm going to be fine," she said. "Just already missing Aden and Indira, I guess."

"They're gonna be _great,_ " Valda insisted. "I'll be their new Neha until you come back."

She couldn't tell them how good that made her feel. To know she'd still have two big sisters watching their back. Valda may as well have been their big sister already anyway.

The three of them talked about Games strategies, about how Balder looked up on the stage. He had seemed really upset, but Neha didn't blame him. She had heard the rumors beforehand that someone else was going to take his place, and for a moment had considered going up to that person and punching them in the face. She wouldn't know what to do with the anxiety beforehand if someone had made it sound like they were going to steal her spot. Unfortunately for him, the Capitol wouldn't know about that.

At the end, Neha received two big hugs, and for a horrifying moment it had seemed like Terra was going to cry. Neha wasn't good with crying.

Lars came next and she wondered if Judah would be coming. She would have thought that he would let Lars come last, but she didn't mind it. She had been looking forward to seeing Lars again before she went, although they had just talked to each other that morning.

The two of them spent the beginning wrapped in a hug, with the occasional kiss mixed with an "I'll miss you" before they even started to say anything of substance. Most of it was what she would expect: Be safe, listen to her mentor, think of him, he loved her, all that sappy shit that made her hate him with how much she loved him.

And then with only ten minutes left in her goodbyes time, he got up, pulling her up with him to give her one more kiss.

"Don't you forget about me when you're all rich and famous," he told her, but his voice was quiet with adoration, a little bit of worry, a hell of a lot of love.

"I won't," she promised him, and meant it more than anything she had ever said. "As long as you get me that fucking ring when I get back."

He grinned at her and did a pinky promise as he walked away, both of their arms all the way outstretched before they let their pinkies drop.

And then there was Judah.

He came in with a long face. He had looked disheveled onstage next to all the other victors, but that was because he never really cared to show off his victory. He had won his Games, had showed his honor on screen, and now he trained poor kids and brought them into his house to steal all his good cookies.

"Can't be here long," he told her, coming to sit down on the chair across from the couch. He leaned forward toward her. "Listen to me, Neha. You're good. You're really good. But I don't want you slipping up in there. I've got my eyes on you."

She nodded, a little smile slipping through. But a sad sort of smile, knowing he was going to sick to his stomach with worry every time she came on the TV. He was just like that. A worrier. Maybe that was why all of his instructions involved not worrying so much.

"And when you get down, you pick yourself up again."

She stood up and motioned for him to get up too. When he did, she threw her arms around him. She didn't really do hugging with people who weren't her family, Valda, or Lars. It was too touchy, too exposed. But if she didn't hug Judah before she went, she would be kicking herself all the way to the Capitol.

"You've got this, my little Career," he said, looking down at her when they stepped away. He started to head toward the door, and she knew it hadn't been ten minutes. But maybe the clock on the wall was a little fast.

"Judah," she said, and he turned back toward her. "Thank you."

He nodded and saluted to her with a silly smile on his face. "You've got this."

* * *

 **the poem this time isn't so much about neha as about lars & neha bc although they didn't get as much time as i wanted them to in order to fit in the other scenes here, i really liked their relationship so i felt like it was fitting to make it about them for this chapter. the poem's a little cheesy but who doesn't love a little cheesy love**

 **neha is from _recklessinparadise_! i had so many ideas for scenes i didn't know how to fit all of them in so i hope i did her & her family & friends justice**

 **this author's note is going to be. too long. but i have a dumb sense of humor so i'm putting the most entertaining of my doc manager & google docs titles on my profile as they happen bc they give me a giggle and i think y'all would enjoy my dumb brain**

 **let me know if you enjoyed! also: i just want everybody to know when school starts up in mid-august i'm DEFINITELY not going to be posting once a day as i have been, more like once a week, but i just really wanna get through intros bc i'm dying to get a feel for all the tributes and also dying to get them to the capitol! but i wanna know y'all's opinions: would it be better if i slowed down and set a schedule for the intros? or should i continue just posting them as i get done? i don't mind either way bc i love validation and shit but if y'all would prefer it if i uh. calmed down a little bit and posted them slower i can do that! **

**another thing, i think i'm gonna set up chapter questions as part of sponsor system bc i've seen other stories doing that and i like that idea so here's the first chapter question: who was your favorite of the people in neha's life? like which relationship of hers was your favorite?**

 **onto district 3!**


	7. Faltering: District Three

a little bit of the sun cracked yesterday,  
shot down to the earth and landed in my backyard.  
they told me it was dangerous,  
told me it was the most dangerous thing in the world.  
so i picked it up with oven mittens and goggles over my eyes,  
threw it in a bag as the sparks tossed themselves everywhere.  
i let it out in the water, where it's cold, where it's quiet,  
where a little bit of sun could learn a thing or two,  
and the ocean dried up in seconds.

* * *

 **Audrey Simmons (17)**

 _ **District Three**_

Audrey sat down on the rock on the edge of the park, the one that had been molded by nature into something similar to a seat. It was so early in the morning, half the district probably wasn't even up to get ready for the reaping yet, but zey had gotten up to have peace and quiet before the event.

Reaping mornings in the Gelin foster house involved Mrs. Gelin doing a lot of yelling to round up the six kids in her household, while Mr. Gelin rapidly cooked a breakfast that would barely get them through to lunch. Mrs. Gelin spent the entire time breakfast cooked pulling out reaping outfits, which were picked the night before, and placing them passive aggressively on the bed as she waited for everyone to get dressed.

Audrey only shared a room with Ivan, which was better than the boys' room in the morning. Two of the triplets, Danny and Decker, shared a room with the youngest member of the household, six-year-old Harris. The third member of the triplets, Daisy, was roomed with Ida, and they were never done on time by virtue of the fact that arguing over who got the bathroom first took up more time than getting dressed and ready in the bathroom did. Danny, Decker, and Harris spent the mornings groaning about how early it was, and the fact that it was dumb that they had to get so dressed up when they weren't going to be reaped anyway.

Ivan was always quiet, like Audrey, but zey still wanted to avoid the chaos.

The bees buzzing around in a nearby tree turned zeir attention away from the mess that zey were avoiding. Zey had always loved bees, and when zey were younger, zey thought zey wanted to grow up to be a beekeeper, making honey and living a life away from all people. So far away that zey would have no neighbors, except maybe a very kind neighbor that zey actually enjoyed.

There was no one else milling around out here like there normally were on nice mornings. Audrey liked to come here because it felt better than isolating zemself, but the rock was back far enough that people didn't generally come up to chat, and zey could just watch the bees buzz around, see the birds in the trees, see the people coming through with their conversations. It was like watching life through a television screen, except with the added bonus of the breeze and the rock underneath zem.

Zey wanted to walk around for a while, go down to the creek, but zey knew if zey weren't back to go to the reaping with the Gelins, everyone would worry. Mr. and Mrs. Gelin had enough to worry about between the rest of the kids to bother dealing with where their soon-to-age-out quiet foster kid was. Audrey did zeir best to never be one they had to concern themselves with.

Eventually, zey decided to walk down the path that headed back in the direction of the house, wanting to be moving along instead of just sitting there. Reaping mornings were the worst mornings, because zey could never just be relaxed or bored. There was anxiety in every step, in every little bit of the earth under zeir feet, and it soaked through zeir shoes and filled zeir body up with it.

A mile or so away from the Gelins house was the old orphanage that Audrey used to live in before being sent to foster care, and zey always were glad that at least zey weren't there on reaping mornings anymore, when the oldest children were often unofficially in charge of calming sobbing twelve- and thirteen-year-olds who were new to the business of the reaping.

If the trees weren't in the way, zey wondered if zey would be able to see it from there—a big, depressingly plain building with a depressingly plain group of people who all trudged through after whatever it was that sent them into an orphanage. It was a sob story factory, that place was, and it had churned Audrey right out.

Eventually, walking down the path just brought zem back to the Gelins. Zey sat on the porch and listened in the house, where zey could hear Mrs. Gelin's voice carrying through the door.

"Danny! Danny, you get back here right now," she cried, and the frantic face she must have been making was clear through her voice. Audrey knew her well enough to know what her Danny face was like, and it was always just an inch shy of outright panic.

Mr. Gelin wasn't a yeller, so when Audrey suddenly heard his voice boom: "Daniel Ovsi, you get into the kitchen _right now!_ " zey flinched despite zemself.

The front door opened and zey turned zeir head back to see Ivan walking out of the house. He seemed surprised to run into zem, but without a word he just sat down on the front step with zem, looking out at the nature that surrounded them. It was beautiful out here—nothing like further in, where factories to produce the technology of Three made everything seem made of metal, even the sun and the clouds.

"Do you wish we weren't around?" Audrey asked, looking over at him. The question had run through zeir mind before, but it seemed rude to ask. Ivan and Harris were the only Gelin children of the house, Harris biologically and Ivan through adoption when he was eight. Now, at eighteen, it never seemed like he was really comfortable in his own house, the house that the rest of them were just passing through.

Ivan looked down at the ground, considering that for a moment. That was the thing about him: he didn't talk much, and when he did, it seemed like every word was calculated as meticulously as a math problem. Every piece needed consideration, to get across what he really meant to say.

"I don't mind," he said finally. "Especially you. You're like a sibling."

The triplets and Ida were likely to be adopted some time or another. Despite their energy and their tendency towards mischief, all of them were sweet and adoptable kids. The Gelins had a reputation for taking good care of those who did come through their house, and often finding homes for the children as well. So Audrey imagined Ivan never got attached to them any more than zey did, but the two of them had never really talked about it before, despite being there the longest.

Zey fidgeted with zeir pant leg over the prosthetic, tugging the material down over the exposed area of not-skin. Ivan glanced over, seeing zem do this. It almost seemed like a question was brewing, so zey stood up, going inside the house without looking back.

In the beginning, Mrs. Gelin had had a million questions about zeir prosthetic—how zey got it, what it was like receiving Capitol care for it, how it felt, if it was easy to walk in it. And it wasn't like Audrey had never heard those things before. Zey were still somewhat new to it when zey first moved in, though, and weren't worn down from the repetition of it all. Zey still were willing to give out short answers about it. Now, zey just wanted it to stop being the thing people noticed about zem if it was ever showing.

Talking too much about it made zem think about everything leading up to the accident, anyway. Zeir parents were gone long before that, but zey had been reckless, thoughtless. When zey woke up in a bright white room with a fuzzy head and doctors looking down over zem in surprise, zey had realized zey could no longer drift through life. Especially not literally, when zey had dazedly walked into the street.

Inside the house, Danny was standing with his head hanging low in the kitchen, next to where Mr. Gelin was standing with his eyes in the living room. Daisy and Decker were in there, lounging on the couch with their reaping clothes on and their hands up playing one their games that involved hitting each other's fingers.

Mrs. Gelin walked into the room with Harris, who looked, admittedly, adorable in his fancy clothes. They were new, since he was six and always growing out of his clothes, although they were used beforehand. But he looked like he belonged in little-kid business school, or a little-kid government.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Mrs. Gelin asked, looking around and counting heads. She pointed at the door, so Audrey assumed she knew that Ivan was out there. "Oh, hell, where's Ida?"

Danny turned and pointed at Mrs. Gelin. "She said hell," he said in indignation to Mr. Gelin. Audrey assumed he must have slipped and said something word being reprimanded. He sometimes just ran away when he knew he was in trouble. The pieces of the yelling puzzle zey heard from outside were locking in now.

"And you just said it again," Mr. Gelin reminded him.

Mrs. Gelin marched off to Ida and Daisy's room to see where she was, and Mr. Gelin began to herd the rest of the group outside. Getting them to walk beyond the park to the train would be a task on its own, so actually getting them out of the house without letting all the kids split off at once was something that required a head start, even if Ida wasn't there for the beginning of the journey.

"Audrey, can you hold Harry's hand?" Mr. Gelin asked, looking at zem with desperation in his tired eyes.

Zey nodded and smiled down at little Harris, who was short and small for his age. He started swinging their arms the moment their hands locked together, and zey felt a little burst of love for this guy. The rest of them she cared about, but in a much more distant way. Harris was going to be a really good kid and a really good person one day. Right now he was a very loud kid and a very loud person sometimes, but that was okay.

Ivan wasn't sitting on the porch outside. Audrey looked around, stepping down into the yard with Harris's hand still firmly in zeirs, but as much as zey swiveled zeir head around, he just wasn't in the front yard anymore. Zey looked up at Mr. Gelin to see if he had noticed yet, but he was pointing to Danny, Decker, and Daisy with a stern look on his face, telling them to behave like eleven-year-olds on the way to the reaping.

"Show some respect for Audrey and Ivan," he said, and that seemed to snap them into a little bit more obedience.

Nothing like reminding the kids of the impending danger of a death match to get them to behave.

"Mr. Gelin," zey said, and zey saw he was about to tell zem to call him "Mike" like he always did, so zey rushed through the rest of what they were going to say before he got the chance. "I think Ivan must've gone around back. He was out here just a second ago."

Mr. Gelin paused for a moment of taking inventory. The names of all the kids seemed to run through his head, eyes moving from one to the next, until he found that zeir observation was correct. Ivan was certainly not with them.

"Okay, I'll check around back. You three, wait for Deenah and Ida."

Audrey watched the triplets, but thankfully they all just started playing a game together that involved standing in place. Still, with Harris's hand firmly in zeirs, they didn't get distracted from keeping these four in sight. Zey just wanted to get to the square before they were late, and as things were going, they were headed on that trajectory. That didn't spell anything but trouble for zem and Ivan especially.

Mrs. Gelin came out with Ida and locked the door behind her, beginning to look at all the kids in the yard. Her eyes narrowed in confusion when she saw that there was no husband and no Ivan there, and she looked first to Audrey for an explanation.

"I think Ivan went around back," zey said. "Mr.— Uh, Mike went back to check."

Mr. Gelin was just coming back around the other side of the house, but Ivan was still nowhere to be found. "He's not back there," he said, looking back behind Audrey toward the creek. There was nowhere back there to hide unless you went all the way back to the woods in the direction of the orphanage, and beyond the Gelins' house was a path to the park and a lot of empty fields. So nowhere really for Ivan to have gone unless he was heading in the opposite direction of the town square.

"Where is he then?" Mrs. Gelin asked, already starting to head toward the creek to see if he was anywhere back there. The rest of them stayed back and watched her as she jogged over.

Audrey was starting to wonder exactly what happened. This wasn't normal, especially for Ivan. He always followed the rules, always listened to his parents, always was happy to do what he needed to do when he was told. He wasn't unhappy or rebellious, nor was he airheaded enough to think it was a good idea to try heading to the square without them.

"Maybe he's already gone ahead," Decker suggested, looking up at Mr. Gelin like he had come up with something genius.

Daisy nodded. "We should probably just go ahead and we'll find him."

Mr. Gelin let out a breath and nodded to them in his way that acknowledged what they were saying without agreeing with it at all. Both he and his wife had gotten good at that sort of thing with this group. "We can't do that, kiddos," he told them. "If we don't make sure he shows up, he'll get in a lot of trouble."

Harris tugged on Audrey's hand and zey realized zey were still keeping track of the little guy. Zey looked down at him with a half-hearted smile, knowing that all of this would be over his head and boring for him to keep track of, but he would still understand that everyone was getting upset and Ivan was missing when he wasn't supposed to be. "Did Ivan go to the park?" he asked, bright green eyes curious, wondering if maybe he had contributed to fixing everyone's problem.

"I don't know," zey told him. Zey didn't know quite how to take care of him, other than to hold his hand and keep an eye out. Zey felt like this would be the moment where zey patted his head or ruffled his hair, but none of that seemed natural to zem, especially not when zey were pretty sure that zeir foster brother had potentially run away from the reaping.

Mr. and Mrs. Gelin started to get frantic, and Mr. Gelin checked his watch, shaking his head. He turned to Audrey and said, "We've got to keep looking for him. You get the kids to the square and find Mr. Hill, Audrey."

Zey nodded, watching him for a moment as he turned away from zem and began to walk toward the park with his hands on the back of his head. Both of them looked like they were about to collapse from the stress and exhaustion. Zey wished zey could help, but if zey didn't head toward the square, zey wouldn't be in time for registration. And there wasn't much zey could do that they couldn't already.

"Okay," zey said, stepping over to the triplets and Indira with Harris's hand still clasped tightly in zeirs. "Let's get to the bus stop."

Zey started herding the group of kids toward the stop, but it wasn't as hard as it normally would be. All of them seemed much more toned down now that Ivan was missing, but Audrey would much rather trade their compliance for his presence.

* * *

At the square, Audrey found Mr. Hill where he always was, still standing at the door of his shop, which was close enough to the square that the Peacekeepers didn't make him move for the reaping. "Mr. and Mrs. Gelin need you to watch them," zey said apologetically. "I think they should be here soon."

"What's holding them up?" he asked, his heavy brow creased and his head cocking to the side. He pulled his hat off, holding it down by his side and running a hand through his thinning hair.

"Uh…" Audrey didn't want to have to explain the situation. Zey hated this kind of shit, pretending to know people, but sometimes it just happened when they realized zey were the Gelins' foster child. Everyone loved that couple around town. "Ivan's missing."

Mr. Hill was shocked enough that he leaned forward, nearly stepping out of his shop for the reaping. But he reined himself in and shook his head. "Poor kid," he said, putting his hat back atop his head. "Well, you better go."

Zey nodded and turned around, going to the back of the registration lines. Other than a few other stragglers, zey were one of the last ones there to get sectioned off for the reaping. There was no way zey would miss Ivan coming up to the line behind zem, but zey kept checking anyway, continuously turning all around to see if maybe the Gelins would pop up and Ivan would have some reasonable explanation for what had happened.

If they didn't soon, the Peacekeepers would come to their house afterward. Ask questions about where Ivan was. And they would find him. They always found the runaways.

Zey knew that there was nothing zey could've done, no way zey could know that he was about to try to escape his very last reaping, but zey wished there were some sort of signs zey could've seen. That there was anything zey could've done to keep him there, where things were best for his entire family. It was just selfish to skip out on this and let the repercussions hurt his parents.

But even still, zey couldn't fully blame him.

Zey stood among all the other kids as the Treaty of Treason was read out to the square, the voice faltering occasionally. The microphone kept cutting out throughout, and it sounded a little bit like how Audrey was feeling.

Ivan wouldn't be in zeir section, but it would be obvious if he showed up late. No matter how hard zey hoped, he didn't come running through the aisle to get in place.

Imelda Detann took the place after the mayor and still there was no sign of him.

She was entirely bald, but wrapped around her head was a crown lit up like fairy lights, and her entire outfit periodically turned on and off with its lights, occasionally flashing different colors too. It was one of the flashier outfits she brought to District Three.

"It's a pleasure to be here today," she said, her voice controlled in a way most escorts weren't. She spoke like she hated her job, which may well have been true in a district with only one winner in the last twenty-five years. But it was also probably the reason why she was stuck here. "With the Quarter Quell coming around this year, I'm very excited to be able to bring a new set of tributes from District Three into the Capitol. And what an interesting twist this year, isn't it?"

She paused like there was going to be some sort of excitement, but no one really got into the different ways the Gamemakers found to torture tributes, of course. She was met with nervous silence, perhaps the most nervous of all coming from Audrey. Zey wished zey could just stop thinking about it, knowing there was nothing zey could do to bring him there, but it was almost certainly too late now. None of them were at the reaping, and zey dreaded to think what the Peacekeepers were going to think of the Gelins' story of looking for their reaping-skipping son.

"All right, why don't we get started," Imelda said, her voice not even lifting up at the end with a question. Her monotony was starting to stress Audrey out even more. Zey needed to get away from all of these people crowding around. Zey needed this fucking reaping to get over with. Imelda's hand was submerged in the names of the girls' bowl when Audrey first began to feel a little like zey were going to start panicking about this. "Audrey Simmons!"

What.

Zey stood there for a moment, but zeir name meant zey had to go to the stage. Zey didn't want to give the Peacekeepers any opportunity to yank zem up there, so slowly zey walked down the brick pathway to the stage. Zeir pant leg rode up just a fractional amount as zey climbed the steps, and zey were sure zeir prosthetic showed. Zey hoped it wasn't enough for the Capitol to hone in on.

"Congratulations, my dear," Imelda said, reaching a hand out to shake. Zey swallowed, looking at the pale white skin with pink swirls and green dots. Her hands looked like birthday cake patterns almost. Zey remembered the Capitolites who had helped zem years ago, how one of the doctor's hands had ornate tattoos. Zey finally reached out and shook it, and then followed her cue when she turned back to the crowd, looking out at the thousands in the square. There were too many faces to find the Gelins, and if they had made it in time, they would be all the way in the back.

No one would come for zeir goodbyes. Zey would spend the hour wondering if Mr. Hill had decided against bringing the other foster kids, and what Ivan would think when he realized he wasn't the one who needed to worry about the reaping after all.

* * *

 **yee funkin haw it's 6am and i hven't slept !**

 **i hope y'all enjoy audrey, zey're from my buddy knave & our dnd campaign jskdfjsldf **

**i'm gonna just keep posting at breakneck for as long as i can to get through intros bc y'all want some fuckin plot i'm sure... i want some plot that's for damn sure... i got some plotty intermissions coming up tho!**

 **so let me know if you enjoyed & here's this chapter's question: do you fault ivan if he did run away for putting everyone in that situation? or do you sort of get it even tho we don't know much about him? **


	8. A Trillion Stars: District Three

the sky  
is made up  
of a trillion stars  
so that we feel  
a little lonelier

* * *

 **Ferrin Novak (13)**

 _ **District Three**_

 **three months ago**

Ferrin calculated every breath as he took it. He had mastered having the most silent inhales and exhales in the world, as any person who got themselves into half as many life-or-death situations as he did would. The footsteps on the bridge he was crouched under weren't going away, and he couldn't run down the stream until they did. He didn't know how many of them were just walking through the scenic area of town and how many of them were Peacekeepers or disgruntled shopkeepers looking to finally catch him in the act.

He cradled the bag of food he had made it out of the grocery store with today in his arms, holding it tightly against his chest. It was only after the footsteps finally went away that he realized he could be crushing the bread.

He didn't come out from under the bridge right away, but when he couldn't hear anything but the distant sounds of the town and the water moving by his feet, he crawled out from where he was wedged between the wooden support of the bridge and the moist earth at his back. He stood up, the water up to his mid-calves here, and looked one last time to make sure no one was around.

And then he was off.

He had caused enough trouble in this town. It was probably time to move on, but he'd have to get money for a train ticket to do that. He didn't think he could walk all the way over to Newton from here, especially not with so many eyes out for him. He'd never managed to get enough food to last him all the way there.

The walls of the stream deepened the further this direction he went, like the water was a living entity that had long ago clawed the dirt out of the way, but got tired the closer it got to town. Ferrin would live in this area forever if he could. He loved swimming down here, and there was a place way farther down, almost back by the factory, where there was a small cave. It was just big enough for Ferrin to sleep in. He wanted to stop back by there before he left to grab the blanket he had stashed, but he didn't know if it would be a good idea. He was sure the Peacekeepers knew that was where lone homeless people slept sometimes, and if they were thinking right, they'd probably make their way there when they realized he lost them.

The stream started to curve, and that was when he finally slowed down, hiking the bag further up on his back to keep it out of the water as it reached his knees. It was pushing him along a little bit, but he was used to walking down it by now.

Once he was around the bend, he saw a person crouched in the water ahead of him and froze on instinct. His first thought was to run away, seeing the flash of white on their clothing and immediately thinking of the Peacekeepers. But then he realized it was someone just as worn down as he was, and tentatively he moved forward. He needed to go this way to find somewhere to stay until later when he could get money for a train, so he couldn't turn back around to avoid them if he didn't have to.

They heard him sloshing around in the water when he got close enough. He was pretty good at staying as quiet as possible, but there wasn't much going on around here, and it was easy to pick up the quiet noises he was still making. Their head snapped around toward him, ready to move, but they relaxed fractionally when they saw he was just a kid.

"Who are you?" the person asked as Ferrin got closer.

"Sorry," he said. He just wanted to get by them without any trouble, or any real conversation. He didn't need anyone remembering him here. "I'm just going through."

"Were the Peacekeepers looking for you?" the person asked.

Ferrin glanced around, worried that they were still hanging nearby if this person had seen them. But he realized that was just paranoia gripping at him and he told himself to relax, looked at them again. "No. Of course not, Mx….?" he trailed off, not knowing their name. But it would make him feel better if he did, both because it felt more polite to address them by name, and because it would make him feel a little less like he was speaking to a ghost.

"Reyna," she said after a moment. "And you?"

"Nobody," he said, shaking his head. He started to walk around them, ignoring whatever they were doing out here, standing in the middle of the stream. He wanted out of the water now that he'd been in it for a while, but it was the safest place in terms of hiding to get where he was going. "I just need to go around you to get to town."

"What did you do?" she asked. He turned back toward her. He wanted to just slip away, but he couldn't ignore her. And he was afraid of what she might do if he did just run from her. She motioned off in the distance, in the direction that the Peacekeepers must have gone looking for him. "Must've been you."

Ferrin got a good look at her now that he didn't think he would be able to go away easily. She wasn't much older than him, now that he really thought about it. She was maybe eighteen or nineteen, and much skinnier than him. "I was… I was just—"

"You stole something," she said, nodding toward the bag on his back. At least he didn't have it in his arms where he could smash the bread further anymore. "Wanna share?"

He shook his head, but he felt a little bit like he didn't have much of a choice. He stepped back away from her. She seemed weaker than him, so there was no chance she would be able to keep up. He could get away if he wanted to. He just didn't know where he'd go.

"You don't have to," she told him, deflating a little bit. But he didn't trust that response.

He remembered before, when the others who worked for Mr. Braginskaya would point at people like her and say to stay away, that they were usually dangerously hungry, and willing to act on it. She looked dangerously hungry, but even if she was willing, it didn't look like she would do much damage. But then, he understood how people got when they were desperate.

"What do you do out here?" he asked her. Maybe if he trusted her a little bit more, he would be okay with giving away a little. He was planning on leaving here anyway. He needed more grain from his tesserae, but it was difficult to get it when he didn't stay in one place that often. But if he was going to the city for the reaping coming up, he might be able to get things figured out in the Justice Building. He didn't know how they'd take a homeless thirteen-year-old showing up asking to sort their yearly grain ration out, but they hadn't cared when he first signed up last year.

She shrugged a little bit. "I used to find stuff to eat. But shit's poisonous, if you're not careful."

He nodded. He knew that well, which was why he didn't eat anything he found unless he was absolutely certain about it. But he hadn't gotten good at being absolutely certain about some things, enough to get him through when he couldn't steal anything.

He couldn't just not give her anything. So he drew out one of the loaves of bread and an apple, reaching them out to her.

She stepped through the water and took them out of his hands. "Thank you," she said quietly. She walked out of the water onto the sandy area where the water went when it flooded, and hoisted herself up onto the shelf of earth there. Her legs dangled over, dripping from the stream. He took a moment to watch her, and she didn't seem to mind, staring out into the woods. Then he went over to the flood area as well. He was going to get sick if he just sat in the water like this.

He decided to sit up on the ground too, putting his bag down next to him and getting the other loaf of bread out to eat. He hadn't realized how tired he was until now, looking at the way the leaves waved in the breeze, the way the birds sang and hopped from branch to branch.

They didn't say anything for a while, which made Ferrin nervous. He felt like Reyna could turn on him at any moment, but she didn't. She just ate the food he gave her in a daze. Eventually, she left the shelf of ground and started to walk in the direction he was headed before he saw her.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

She turned back to him. "I guess the same thing you are. Going somewhere," she told him, with half a smile. Her eyes were clearer now, and she didn't seem quite so much like she could fall asleep standing up. But her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes had bags underneath them. He felt like a wind could blow her into the next district, or all the way to the ocean. She was probably nineteen, couldn't even get tessera anymore.

"Can I come too?" he asked before he thought better of it. He didn't want to be wandering around alone anymore. He didn't want to have only himself to talk to. He didn't want to have only his own thoughts when it got quiet. He didn't really like it there.

She shrugged, so he hopped down and slung his bag over his shoulder. He still had half his loaf of bread and two apples. Wherever they were going, that would have to be okay.

* * *

 **a week ago**

They had found somewhere to stay until the reaping. In the city, there was a lonely old woman who let kids with nowhere to go stay in her house. He had a feeling that the ones his age usually ended up in orphanages—somewhere he did not want to go—but with Reyna along with him, he was safe from her telling district authorities about him.

For the first couple of days, Ferrin said over and over again that she didn't have to be so kind, but he didn't really mean it. If she wasn't so kind, he wasn't sure what he and Reyna would be doing when they got there.

That night, she brought food into the guest room and set it down on the dresser for them. She turned around to leave, but Reyna stopped her with a question.

"Aren't you worried we're going to do something?" she asked. "Steal something?"

The woman looked at her and her tired eyes crinkled up into a smile. "What could you possibly steal from me?" she asked, and left the room.

Ferrin felt like she either didn't care, or she had been hurt so badly she just wasn't thinking straight enough to care. There was a picture of a man in the living room that he had seen. It didn't take much to guess that he was her husband, and without him she just started bringing people in, helping people in that way. Even if it wasn't the smartest idea. It was a nice idea.

"This is weird," Ferrin said, looking over at Reyna. The two of them had talked a lot in the time that they'd known each other. She left her house when she was fifteen and jumped between family members, hating all of them and isolating herself every time she walked out of one's door, until finally they just didn't let her in anymore. Counted her as a lost cause. He felt like she blamed herself for pushing her family away, but if they weren't willing to help her, even if she was being difficult, Ferrin didn't think they were much of a good family at all.

She asked about what happened to him. How he got there. He gave her the short version, the easy version. When he said he'd worked for the tech producer, Andrei Braginskaya, she hadn't believed him at first, rolling her eyes like it was a lie. But the more he told his story, the more she realized that he wasn't that good of a liar and couldn't possibly fabricate this.

"How'd you end up losing all that, kid?" she had asked him, propped up by her elbow on the floor. They were taking turns with the bed every night.

"He didn't like me," Ferrin had told her. "He cuts off rations of the people he doesn't like. I stole food, and he…" He didn't know how to lie here. Didn't know how to fill the gaps of the story he didn't want to tell. "Well, he kicked me out."

"But your dad's still there?"

Ferrin had nodded and turned over to go to sleep.

He didn't blame his dad for not looking for Ferrin. There was no way he could find where he'd run off to, and just trying to would leave him jobless and homeless. He wouldn't make it as well as Ferrin would. Or maybe he would, if he did jobs for people, but it was easier to think that there was no way the absence in his life could be fixed.

Now, Reyna didn't seem so talkative. She just grabbed their plates from the dresser and handed his over, and they ate in silence.

A week and a half of good eating wasn't going to fix everything in their lives, but this was the most luxurious accommodations he had had in years. He didn't care much if it was strange, but it was still worth acknowledging.

When Reyna was done eating, she came to the bed and sat down on the foot of it, pulling her legs underneath her and looking at Ferrin wordlessly. He glanced at her, hating this game she played sometimes. When there was something on her mind, she just let him figure it out, or at least start the conversation.

"What?" he finally said, giving in.

She clasped her hands in her lap and let out a breath. So this was pretty serious. "Ferrin, I want you to go to the orphanage after the reaping," she said. "I'm an adult. I need to get a job, and then— then I'll adopt you or some shit. Like as a big sister. Well, as a guardian legally, but that's weird. A big sister." She spoke rapidly, not letting him get a word in until she stopped, but he was shaking his head as she spoke.

"No. Nope. I won't. If you two send me there, I'll just leave," he said.

"Ferrin, he's not going to find you," she said gently. She had asked before why he didn't want the roof over his head and the food in his mouth that he'd have there, and he had made it pretty damn clear that he wasn't going to risk Mr. Braginskaya finding him if he was living in the system. He wasn't going back there. "It won't be long anyway. Just til I have a job and an apartment. I already talked to Mrs. Riel and she said she'd help me out."

"No!" he snapped at her, standing up from the bed. "No, I'm not going back there. I'm not fucking going back there."

He walked out of the room, his feet carrying him quicker than his mind was actually moving. He was out of the house and walking down the street before he calmed down enough to think about where he was going. He would go back later, but he couldn't be in there knowing that they wanted him to be exposed like that. He had managed just fine up until now, so if Reyna wanted to get a job and shit, he would just wait until she did. Or Mrs. Riel could let him stay there like he was already. There was no _reason_ to send him there.

He found his way to an empty street full of mostly abandoned, run-down old houses, and he sat down next to a street light, leaning up against it and pulling his knees against his chest. If they understood him at all, if they _understood_ —

"Kid."

Why had she followed him? He didn't even need to stay with her, really. They had only known each other a few months. It was ridiculous to think she could just demand he go to an orphanage and that she _adopt_ him. He would be fine on his own.

She sat down next to him. He wanted to get up and run away from her. But he couldn't not give her a chance. Maybe she'd seen reason.

"Kid," she said again, this time quieter. "You're like a little brother to me, Ferrin. I just wish you'd realize you don't have to do all this shit on your own. You're only thirteen."

He refused to say anything if she wasn't going to listen to what he was saying. He really would run away if she made him go there, and then they'd never see each other again. That wasn't what he wanted, as angry with her as he was. But he couldn't risk anything, and he didn't want them to think that he was incapable of taking care of himself. He was aware of how young he was, but he was also aware of how young he was when he first left home, when the world really began to crash around him. He could handle things on his own.

"I don't want him to find me," he said finally. He rested his forehead on his knees, shutting his eyes and blocking most of the world out.

"He won't," Reyna promised, with the most conviction he had ever heard in her voice. "You're safe, Ferrin."

* * *

 **present day**

Ferrin and Reyna had walked together to the square for the reaping. She said she'd see him afterwards, and then they'd get things figured out.

Mrs. Riel had said that he could stay with her so long as it wasn't for too long. Reyna already had a job, had looked almost nonstop from the moment that was her goal. And now she was saving up every cent she didn't give to Mrs. Riel for food. They had learned together she didn't really have a lot of money after her husband died, although the husband's death was still speculation. So that was why she hadn't originally wanted Ferrin to hang around while Reyna got their lives figured out.

But now everything was going their way. As long as Reyna worked hard in the factory, she would have an apartment soon. Then they'd have a roof over their heads that was their own. She could put food on the table for them without either of them having to steal and put themselves in danger. It would be almost normal.

Ferrin was floating through the reaping. He wasn't really there for the Treaty of Treason, instead wanting to get back to Reyna. Something told him that they might be looking for apartments. He knew she wouldn't have enough saved up already for a deposit, and she'd struggle for first month's rent if they didn't have more saved up, but it wouldn't hurt to start looking.

Imelda Detann never did much to keep attention on her. It was a wonder she managed to stay in District Three and not get pushed down to a district like Twelve or Thirteen, but Ferrin didn't care enough to keep up with escorts and which ones were on his stage.

She called up one Audrey Simmons, who seemed more concerned with something out in the crowd than where they were in the moment. Ferrin was paying attention now. It was hard not to when the tributes were up on the stage. There was a district-wide ache to see the faces of those who would probably not return to them. Everyone's eyes were trapped on the stage as if there had been an accident and people had come out of their homes to see what was going on, hungry for the tragedy that twisted their hearts.

No one clapped for Audrey when Imelda asked for them to. There was only one victor for District Three, and that wasn't much to clap for every year. Ferrin glanced back at where Decima Reede was sitting, having refused to make a speech as she did every year. Her face was perpetually grimacing, but never more so than during the reaping.

"Ferrin Novak!" Imelda called out clearly into the microphone while he was still dazing away. His eyes snapped to her but he didn't move. He didn't even think he breathed. It could have been another twenty-five years before he took another step toward the stage, away from the square, away from apartments, away from a life with a big sister.

Imelda's composed face wrinkled after a moment when there was nothing going on. There weren't a lot of people who knew him, and perhaps none in his age group, so everyone was looking around for a Ferrin Novak that they couldn't find. He watched her eyebrows raise as she stepped closer to the microphone again, considering repeating his name in hopes of drawing him out. But he was stubborn, and no one was figuring out who he was yet. Maybe if he just looked around like everyone else, they wouldn't find him.

The worst of it all was that he wasn't surprised. He had skirted through life, avoiding one thing to the next, and scraping past rules and laws to get by. Eventually he was bound to fall victim to the worst possible punishment.

"Mr. Novak," Imelda said again with an awkward smile, and Peacekeepers were beginning to inch toward the boys' section to find out who he was. He would be yanked onto the stage unceremoniously, made to stand in front of the crowd of pitying faces, made to stand in front of Reyna out there somewhere. "Mr. Novak, are you out there?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and felt himself begin to move. When he opened his eyes again, people were moving out of his way, a thousand young eyes staring at him. A thousand young eyes who'd never known the hardships he had, who would never know them, who would never be forced into the Games over them. A thousand eyes, a million eyes, and he was on stage in front of them all, he was shaking hands with Audrey in front of them all, he was presented to the Capitol by Imelda Detann in front of them all. A thousand, million eyes and only one pair had ever bothered to care.

* * *

 **yeehaw... took a few days break and now i'm ready to fuckin get some intros OUT... i WANT to get both d4s out when i wake up but lmao we'll see**

 **i wasn't going to do ferrin at the reaping either but i thought just showing his thought process would be really sad considering he and reyna just got close to each other**

 **ferrin is from _mysteriousStarlight_!**

 **i got all the capitol chapters & partnerships planned and i'm super excited! i think y'all are gonna enjoy some of the things i have planned, it's going to be very relationship-centric (not all romance relationships) and i'm excited to have those relationships start to play out**

 **question for the chapter: which of the minor characters here (decima, imelda, mrs riel, mr braginskaya, etc) seem the most interesting from the very little they're shown/talked about?**


	9. The Skeletons We Bury: District Four

this graveyard is big enough for all your skeletons.  
really.  
we don't ask where they came from.  
deposit your dinosaurs like a paycheck,  
with a smile on your face, and a nod to the staff.  
we've got plenty of you to help dig these holes.  
maybe one day we'll dig yours.

* * *

 **Sedna Dyan (18)**

 _ **District Four**_

 **yesterday**

"Oh, come on," Sedna said, shaking her head as she watched the fifteen-year-old Gao swing pitifully into the log with his axe. He looked at her, desperately trying to catch his breath as he let the axe rest down on the ground. His eyes were filled with nothing but hatred, but she always took that as a good sign. "Nope, stand back up, Arkes. We're not done yet."

He sat down on the unbroken log, hands above his head and eyes now pointing up at the sky. Whatever deity he was trying to call to wouldn't help him in the Games, and they wouldn't save him from Sedna, either. She stepped over to the axe and picked it up, holding it in position to swing at the log he was sitting on, which made him scramble up out of the way at lightning speed. So he wasn't too tired to put a little more effort in when he feared for his life. She swung down at the wood and the axe lodged in, where she left it. There was no point splitting it when she was just trying to prove a point to him. Besides, axes weren't really her forte, and she didn't want to embarrass herself by overextending herself on something she didn't know all that well.

"You"—deep breath—"haven't been"—long exhale—" _killed_ in training today."

"If you were killed in training today, how do you ever expect to win the Hunger Games?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. She stepped toward him and motioned toward the ground. "I want thirty. Then you're done."

Relief and desperation flashed through his eyes, cycling between the two in seconds, and then he slowly got down onto the ground, his arms underneath him, and pushed himself up.

"Get your elbows angled, Arkes," she said. She looked away, watching the waves crash up on the beach as the tide rolled in. She wanted to get back to the Academy before training concluded for the day. It was opened later than normal this year, since it was a Quell year and a year of the chosen victor, but having agreed to help Gao today before she went off to the Games, she couldn't just cut his training short for her own benefit.

After thirty long, painful pushups, Gao finally collapsed back and looked up at Sedna. She nodded to him with a smile on her face. "Good job today, Gao," she said. She held out a hand for him to pull himself up, and already he was responding to her changed demeanor. All of the people she helped seemed to hate her during their sessions, but their attitudes were entirely different when she was praising them.

"You're leaving tomorrow," he said, as if she wasn't aware that she was going to volunteer. It might be seen as trust in her abilities if it weren't for the fact that this year was a year of the chosen victor. After she nodded, he continued on, and she prepared herself for him to speak without stopping. "I can't imagine. Well, I guess I can. Since you're training me. But are you excited?"

She shrugged. "I guess I am," she said. She knew that when she returned, everything would be different for her. She would have a higher standing. More of a chance to help others. To help District Four. Her winning in and of itself would bring on more prosperity in District Four, not that it was ever hurting in the first place. But when Isaac Welsh won six years ago, she remembered how a lot of faces looked less hungry. A lot of people were a little better off for it. He had to feel good about that, and she hoped she would too.

She wasn't just doing this for her father, she reminded herself. That would make it all pointless. That was what gave her pause.

"You're going to volunteer," he said in amazement, looking forward again. The Academy wasn't far off now, which she was grateful for. Gao was a good guy, but conversations with him were a little trying. Still, even despite his reluctance to do as she said at times, he was a good Career, too. So she put up with the talking. "I am, too. One of these days."

"Not during one of the free-for-all years, are you?" she asked, looking over at him with a little bit of amusement on her face.

Gao had shown a particular dislike for those who volunteered during the free-for-all years, saying that they never knew if they were really the best. If they were really cut out for the Games. Three of Four's four victors hadn't been chosen by the Academy, though, but she never bothered to point that out. All Gao ever did was talk about how he admired Welsh, so there was no point convincing him that Josie Adner, Luis Barnes, and Talisa Longstaff were just as cut out as the beloved chosen victor was.

"No," he said, shaking his head and scrunching up his nose. "No, the free-for-all years are for the reaped, and that's how it should stay."

"And what if the reaped is young?" she asked him. This was about the only kind of conversation she enjoyed with him—ones that challenged him, made him think a little bit. Part of her thought harshly that he needed a little more exercise in that department than what she could give him with occasional debates.

"So be it, I guess," he said, shrugging. "The reaped from other districts are young. This is just how the Academy intended for it to be."

"So why don't we simply push for a move to One or Two's system?" she asked him. She hadn't brought up this point with him before. Mostly they had just hashed out the nitty-gritties of why exactly he was annoyed with those who chose to go a year or two before the Academy was ready to select their next tribute. "Volunteers every year, churning them out. It works, doesn't it? Two has more victors than we do."

"Two is the Capitol's lapdog," he said, rolling his eyes at her and brushing that point off. "One has the same number, from the same number of years. So both systems are just fine."

"But doesn't it stand to reason that we'd have more?" she asked.

He shook his head, and his eyes lit up like he was dying to say what he had on his mind in regards to that particular question, the rest of the debate be damned. "We have more time to train our chosen victors this way. Like with the Academy already making me a candidate, so they'll put more of their energy into me. And I'll win. Same with you."

It wasn't a bad point, so she shrugged as if to say she had to give that one to him. The Academy was in sight now so she patted him on the shoulder, saying goodbye, and jogged up to the building. He stayed behind at his own pace, still recovering from their final training session together as things stood the way they did. Maybe he'd have the fortune to train with a victor when she got back.

Serena was in the gymnasium of the Academy when she went looking for her. She had assumed she would be there to watch her boyfriend train and wait for Sedna. She hadn't been putting her heart into training since it was confirmed that Sedna would be the one going into the Games on their last year of eligibility, but while she was still eighteen, she trained as many of the people in her position did, if only because it was their last chance unless they became trainers. Her boyfriend was seventeen and still had the opportunity to try for next year, should he wish to go in during a free-for-all year.

"Hey!" Serena called over to her, motioning for her to come sit while Mica did some knife-throwing practice with some of the other sixteen- to seventeen-year-olds. Sedna went over to the bleachers and sat. They often held competitions like this in the Academy, which was why a lot of the training rooms had bleachers. Knife-throwing competitions and spar matches drew good crowds when they were hyped up. "How was your last session with that brat?"

Sedna laughed, shaking her head. They had done their fair share of talking about Gao's flaws, but she just wasn't in the mood for that today. She felt a little bit like she was dancing through her routine in shoes that could never quite reach the floor. "He was okay. Still hating the in-betweeners."

"Have him tell that to Talisa Longstaff," Serena said, shaking her head. Sedna didn't bring up the fact that Serena largely agreed with him until Mica decided he would try for next year.

"Have him say that to Talisa's son," Sedna added on.

The door to the training center opened and Remi Par entered the room. His eyes were on those practicing as he relieved the other trainer for his lunch break, but her heart was moving as quickly as it would if he came over to her and knelt down on one knee right away. His curly sun-bleached hair fell over his forehead, and it was too far away to see his eyes now, but she knew how sea green they were. She looked away, staring at the wooden floors as she tried to compose herself.

When she came back, this would be better. It wouldn't be an issue anymore once he wasn't her trainer.

Serena somehow didn't notice, had _never_ noticed her crush on the man, and Sedna would keep it that way as long as she could. If anyone found out what she felt for him before she volunteered, it could have endangered her status as a candidate. Relationships between trainers and trainees were strictly forbidden, and that was one of the only things that the Academy _was_ ever strict about. Apparently it had been a problem before the second rebellion, and the board felt that it simply got in the way of victors coming home. Having to build up a new network of victors was a serious business, even in as loose a district as District Four.

"We should go," Sedna said. "Mica's going to be busy."

Serena shrugged and stood up with Sedna. Her boyfriend looked back at them as they opened the door to leave, waving before refocusing on his task.

They started to walk back to Sedna's house. She hoped that her father wouldn't be home. He had been nothing but good to her in the week leading up to the Games, proud as ever before that he would be soon fathering a victor, but it was a little stifling. He wanted her to help, to do something important in the world, but she didn't know why that was the Games. Hearing him say over and over how she would bring more honor than ever to the already-strong Dyan name was difficult. She was proud to be training, and it was too late to stop, anyway. But everything felt just shy of right.

Her house was away from the waterfront and it wasn't nearly as beautiful in this area of their fisher town. But her father had a taste of luxury with the fishing boats he owned, and he wanted something a little more connected to the rest of the people. He liked to put on a front around others—one that having a big, fancy, visible house gave off quite well. One that didn't say his love for his daughter was conditional on her success taking his business over for him, or her success in the Hunger Games. Preferably both.

"Are you going to miss all this?" Serena asked, looking over at her. She would be moving down the coast in the district. The Victors' Village was right by a beach in the city, and she didn't intend on moving back there for her father's business when she won. She would still continue it, but it could come to the city with her.

"I guess so," she said, nodding.

She didn't know exactly what Serena had been referencing, though. There was nothing spectacular about her life here, just the routine of having been raised there. The routine of going through all of her activities as she always did, constantly vying for something a little better.

Still, she liked it in their town despite her dissatisfaction with things she couldn't fully put her finger on. She liked the quietness, the closeness. She liked that there was an Academy here and she didn't have to travel to train, although that wouldn't be a problem in the city. She liked Serena and Mica. She liked Remi.

Maybe she wouldn't stay away from there forever.

* * *

 **present day**

The goodbyes were going to be the most excruciating hour of her life. She had made her peace with everyone she wanted to before she left, and she didn't really care who felt the need to come say goodbye to her before she left for the Games. She wanted to be in the train, heading to the Capitol. She wanted everything to begin falling into place.

It was worse when her father came in. He walked into the room after Serena left, the two of them having spoken of how weird it would be when she got back. He nodded to her, business-like, as they passed each other, and sat down in the chair across from Sedna. He leaned back, spreading out against the armrests of the chair, and looked over her. Like one final glance to see if she was really worthy, if she would really be making it back to him.

"You know I'm proud of you, don't you?" he asked her.

 _No,_ she thought, but she nodded despite this. He was the only person in the world she couldn't speak her mind to. Her stomach twisted like it was trying to tie itself into a bow whenever she even considered it. "I'll make it back, Dad."

"I know you will," he said. He had a kind smile on his face, one that didn't quite fit. His skin stretched around it and his eyes crinkled, and it seemed like it could pass as a regular smile to anyone else, but she knew better. She knew better than anyone. "You have a world to come back to here in Four, Sedna."

She nodded, looking down at her lap and keeping her lips sealed. She didn't know how to talk to him now that everything he had ever wanted was coming true. As much as she had tried to take it by the reins and make it _her_ goal, _her_ mission, something that was only _started_ by him, it still felt like it was tainted by him. Her father was written all over her career as a tribute. Her father would be behind every move she made in the arena. She just hoped that that didn't make her slip up.

"And you listen to me, Sedna," he said, his voice changing. Before, it was the pride that made her feel uneasy. Now it was the voice he used when things weren't going the way he wanted them to. The voice that caused the roiling in his stomach when she wanted to say something against him. She looked up and saw that his eyes were clear, focused. It seemed he was just shy of going out to the stage and saying his piece in front of the entire district with the conviction he held. "You kill that Longstaff boy. Got me?"

That didn't make any sense. She frowned, tilting her head a little bit as her brows furrowed. "Carloman? What's wrong with him?" she asked.

She had assumed it would come down to that eventually. They wouldn't be partnered up for this Quell, although she didn't know if there would be any rules against district partners still being able to win together. But if her partner was worth a shit, she was sure the two of them would stick together. Still, her father had no reason to be so adamant about Carloman Longstaff's death. He didn't seem like a bad person—just really overwhelming, maybe.

"Ask him. Maybe he knows," he said, his nose wrinkled up in disgust at— at she didn't know what. Maybe the idea of her having to interact with him. But that was a given. He was obviously going to be a Career, having been chosen for this spot and being as trained as he was. Not to mention being the son of the first victor after the Games were reinstated following the second rebellion. So their interactions shouldn't have been something he was only just considering with this much frustration.

Her father stood up, walking past her and patting her on the shoulder as he left. She looked back at him, wanting to ask for more, for what was wrong with Carloman. What made him so despicable. But her mouth wouldn't open before her father was gone, leaving someone else to come in after him.

He hadn't even said goodbye.

* * *

 **yeehaw...**

 **i just can't stare at this chapter anymore so here she is fellas! sedna is from _Juud108_! her voice was so much fun but i was sjdklfjsldkf soooo writer's blocked fellas**

 **i just wanna say i appreciate all the reviews so far! it means the world to me and i'm having so much fun. here's to a million hearts that i can't type on ffn**

 **let me know what you think of the chapter and here's the chapter question: what do you think is up with that shit to do with her dad? i mean i know but i wanna know what y'all think**


	10. A Connecting Rhythm: District Four

it's funny how we all have nothing  
nothing really worthwhile to give  
nothing really worthwhile at all  
except the rhythm in our chests  
but that could be enough to last a lifetime

* * *

 **Carloman Longstaff (18)**

 _ **District Four**_

 **a month ago**

"Turn the fucking music up! Turn—the fucking—"

The wind was knocked out of Carlo as someone barrelled straight into him. Suddenly he was surrounded by sand and laughter, and if it weren't for the fact that there was no oxygen in his lungs, he would be laughing right along with them.

"Who—? What the fuck?"

Eli grinned at him as he sat up enough to give Carlo a chance to scan his face. The moment he could breathe close to normally again, Carlo pulled him back down into a kiss, a hand on the back of his head to keep him close.

The music wasn't blaring loud enough on the beach. He could barely feel it in his bones while he was trying to make out with Eli and that wasn't good enough. So as soon as they pulled away, he let his hand trail across Eli's cheek as he stood up and started to walk away.

"Who's on the music? Who's even on the music?" he called out into the crowd, looking around at all of the people on the beach. Everyone's faces were painted orange by the firelight from the bonfire, and he didn't know how to push through the crowd enough to get to whoever the hell it was that thought that the music needed to go down. If the rest of the neighborhood was complaining, they just needed to get their asses down to the beach.

Yue crashed into his side, not as rough as Eli had, and she grabbed his hand, holding it up into the air. "Everybody, get out of the way! It's the man himself!" she yelled, and it got through the crowd enough to see that Carlo wanted to get past them all. He grinned as everybody started hitting him on the back as he went past.

Once he got back to the speakers, he turned the music up to its original volume and then some. The person who had turned it down looked at him sheepishly—or he assumed it was that person who turned it down, from the look they gave him. He didn't even recognize who they were, but it was probably just one of the people who had taken the blanket invite he had thrown around at the Academy.

"Hey!" he called over to them. He started to walk toward them and their eyes widened, so he put on a smile and shook his head. "Hey, buddy, c'mere!"

The person reluctantly stayed where they were until he was over to them. He put an arm around their shoulders and looked out at all of the people on the beach, dancing around the fire, taking a dip into the water further down. He was pretty sure a couple people were skinny dipping. Combine that with the drinking and smoking going on and he _really_ hoped everybody there was at least seventeen or eighteen. He'd told everybody he'd kick their asses out if they were younger and tried to come.

"Too loud?" he asked them over the sound of the music, which he could now feel reverberating through him. _This_ was what a party felt like to him.

They nodded, so Carlo started to bring them further down the beach. They probably couldn't see from where they were standing, but there was an area closer to the back where people were still having a good time, but the music wouldn't be right in their ears. And one of his boyfriends was over there, so he knew that this guy would have a good time. Once they were back there, Carlo shoved him playfully toward the people back there, and the person gave him an awkward thumbs-up.

"You have fun down here," he said. "Let me ruin my hearing up there in peace!" He grinned and turned around, going back up to the heart of the party.

The bonfire was burning bright and hot now, standing up almost as tall as him and flickering all around. There was a little bit of fencing around the fire to make sure none of the people who got drunk would stumble into it, and the firewood to add into it was lined up on the inside of the fencing to protect them even further.

This may have been the biggest, wildest party he'd ever thrown for his birthday—he was legal now, after all—but he'd be damned if everybody wasn't going to come out of it just the way they'd arrived, if potentially hungover.

He walked toward the house on the edge of the beach. He hoped he would bump back into Yue soon, but there were over a hundred fifty people there if he had to guess. There was just no wading through the crowd, even with a lot of them spread out between her place, the bonfire on the beach, and the water.

"Hey, Carlo," someone said once he was in her yard. He looked over and saw one of his boyfriend's friends, Dante. He grinned at the guy and went over to him. "Hey, man, happy birthday!"

"Thanks," he said gratefully. Half the people here were only distantly aware that it was his birthday. He didn't care—this was a party for the sake of a good time more than it was a party to celebrate him. It made the birthday wishes seem a little more sincere anyway. "Hey, have you seen Eli or Mako around? Or Yue?"

Dante paused for a moment, thinking. The drink in his hand tilted to the side a little bit as he did, so Carlo assumed he'd already partaken a good bit. He reached over and righted the cup before it could spill, and the guy grinned at him. "Thanks. But uhh… I think I saw Yue and Eli over inside. Yeah, they're inside."

He nodded. "Have a good time, bud!" he called back to him as he went inside.

Most of the people who weren't out on the beach or in Yue's yard were getting something to eat or drink, or were just chilling out. Her house wasn't overly big, but it was worth it for its proximity to the beach. Because of its size, though, most of the people had found their spots on the floor to get comfortable. A lot of them were smoking and laughing together. Seeing all of them together and having fun—that was what this shit was for. He saw his weed guy over on the couch passed out. After he found Yue he would take the guy upstairs to get some rest in peace.

Yue was in the kitchen pouring a drink out for Eli and Arturo, who were both sitting up on the counter, holding hands. He went over to his best friend and grabbed himself a cup for her to pour him something, since his last one had been lost when Eli tackled him. "Hey," he said, smiling at her. "You having fun?"

She nodded and handed him his cup when it was full. The beer wasn't great, but he was tipsy enough that he didn't care. He just wanted to enjoy the night. "You're going to be having an even better time when you hear who's showing up," she told him, and then began walking away to leave him hanging. He considered going after her, but Eli and Arturo grabbed at the back of his shirt and tugged him back over to them. So he turned around and faced them with a smile.

"It's the victors," Eli told him.

"Isaac Welsh," Arturo added.

If Carlo didn't love all of his boyfriends to death, he would have deserted them on the spot. Isaac fucking _Welsh_ was coming to his party. The Victors' Village was just across the street, right on the beach like Yue's house, so he knew that they'd be able to hear it going on. The only one of them over twenty-four was his mom, so he wasn't concerned with what they thought. He had just wondered if any of them would actually show.

He was mostly concerned with Isaac Welsh showing up.

"I've got to talk to him," he said. The only thing holding him back was the fact that he'd been living in the same neighborhood as the guy for six years since he first won, and still hadn't had a real conversation with him once. He was only four years older than Carlo, and easily the hottest victor to ever come out of the Hunger Games. And it was no secret that he was just as open as Carlo was.

"You'll have plenty of time to talk to him when he's your mentor," Arturo told him. He hopped down from the counter and pressed a kiss against Carlo's lips. He returned it, his eyes sliding shut. Even with Isaac Welsh wandering somewhere around there, he couldn't be separated from the moment when a very handsome guy was pressed up against him. When they pulled away, Arturo added, "I heard in the Academy the other day that he's definitely going this year."

It would be the first year his mom didn't mentor since she won, then. He knew that she hadn't planned on it, but he hadn't heard much about the decision since she told him it would be someone else sending him off into the arena. It was enough that she had pushed him this far, she said. He had assumed that Luis or Josie would step up to the plate. He was close with Josie, actually. She had the house right next door to the Longstaffs, and he had always assumed she would be taking up the task to send her little nuisance into the Games.

But Isaac Welsh? He couldn't complain about that. The man was an icon in the Games, and Carlo was dying to get to know him. Now that he was eighteen, he had hoped he would find it in himself to talk to him. But as of yet it hadn't happened.

Eli hopped down from the counter and waved at them as he went back toward the front door. Carlo glanced at the couch and remembered that his weed guy was still over there, passed out, so he looked to Arturo. "Wanna help me get Guy upstairs?" he asked.

They went over to the couch and Carlo picked Guy up. He didn't really need Arturo's help carrying him, but he wanted to spend time with him anyway. With all of the people at the party, it was nearly impossible to spend any meaningful time with any one member of the group of guys they all affectionately referred to as Carlo's harem. He didn't know why he'd been picked as the "owner" of the harem, though. The real star of every party was Guy with the weed, and Mako with his sense of humor. But he supposed since he was the most well-known, as Talisa Longstaff's son, most people assumed they were all following him around.

"So how are you doing, Carlo?" Arturo asked him as he trailed behind him on the stairs. It was even quieter as they went up here, the laughter and conversations of the people high off their asses downstairs only barely drifting up with them. "Good birthday?"

He looked back at him and nodded. It would be a good birthday even if only a handful of people showed up, but with everyone there, it would be impossible to not have fun. Unless somebody too young showed up, or a fight got started. But so far it seemed like no one was going to do anything stupid within a certain radius of his mom's house.

"I heard Walt started the stripping down at the beach," Arturo told him, a chuckle in his voice. Carlo grinned and shook his head. Walt was the most promiscuous of everyone in their group of boyfriends, which was really saying something in comparison to some of them. "He and Mina Winelin left twenty minutes ago to go back to her place."

Mina Winelin was about the only person in the world who could make Walt calm down for a moment. The two had been flirting for weeks, and he always said that the only thing that would make him leave their "harem" was a declaration of love from her. And now it seemed like that was sort of what he was getting. "Good for him," he said. The casual members like Walt never weren't much of a disappointment when they left the group—only a good time while they were part of it. He was closest with Arturo and Eli.

"Gonna miss his breakfast in the morning, though," Arturo noted.

That would be a disappointment. With all of the bullshit he flung around, Walt was a damn good cook. Other than the good heart Carlo knew was there behind all the sex and shit, and his good looks, it was his most redeeming quality.

He went into his room. Since Yue lived so close to home, a lot of the time he just crashed at her place rather than bothering to deal with his parents. As such, he had his own room in her house. He laid Guy down on the bed, pulling a blanket over him. He stirred for a moment, looking around blearily, before shrugging and going back to sleep. Carlo laughed and turned around, shutting the door behind him quietly.

"I know I'll have time with Isaac later," Carlo told Arturo apologetically, "but if I don't talk to him now, this is going to be the biggest mistake of my life."

That was way an over-exaggeration, but coupled with some playful puppy eyes, he knew that Arturo would have no hard feelings for ditching him for the hot victor milling around somewhere downstairs.

"Okay, but if I don't see you before I leave, love you," Arturo said, wiggling his fingers in a dorky wave.

Carlo grinned, giving him one last kiss. "Love you, buddy. If you're not feeling the drive home, you'd better park your ass somewhere in this house, though."

"Gotcha. Go have fun."

He worked his way through the rest of the people, some of them stopping him to say hi, and finally he was back out in Yue's yard. Everything kind of felt fake when he was in the house, the music thumping outside distantly and the people all much more subdued, but outside he felt like he was really back in the mix. People walked past him everywhere, although the crowd was thinning out a little bit the later it got. He was sure some of these people weren't meant to be going to his party and would be in deep shit if they were found out. But he didn't get why their parents would care what a bunch of mostly eighteen-year-olds did out on the beach. His mom and dad had never given a shit.

Yue was soon next to him, laughing and grabbing his hand. He didn't question where she was taking him, but he kept his eyes out for Isaac as he laughed to whatever she found funny. Yue was contagious like that: when she was rowdy and fun, everyone else had a good time. When she was laughing, everything became funny. When she was sad, it was a race against time to pinpoint why, because that wasn't what anybody wanted at all.

"Did Arturo and Eli tell you?" she asked when she pulled him over to the bonfire.

He turned and focused on her. "Yeah," he said over the music and talking. "Where the hell is he?"

"Now, remind me again. Which 'he' is this?" she joked, knowing she was only prolonging his suffering. Every moment he wasn't finding Isaac now was pure torture. What kind of host would he be without properly welcoming the finest victor in District Four? "Luis or Mr. Welsh?"

"Oh, shut up," he said, nudging her.

She punched him in the arm in retaliation, hard, and he wondered for the millionth time why her strength was never utilized for the Games. Last year was her last chance and she hadn't bothered to volunteer. Yue and the Longstaffs weren't ones to really give a shit about who went during free-for-all years, so he had always assumed that his best friend would be leaving him and coming back a victor a year before he did. But she instead had chosen to stay in District Four. It was weird to him, but not worth bothering himself over.

She pointed a finger into the crowd, and once his eyes had scanned through about everyone in that vicinity, they finally rested on Isaac Welsh. Isaac Welsh, with the strong jaw, the deep brown eyes, the gorgeous smile. Isaac Welsh in swim shorts with absolutely no shirt in sight, and abs so defined they made Carlo dizzy. He kissed Yue on the cheek and then skirted around the fence next to the bonfire. Someone who seemed sober enough was tossing some more wood in, and he patted them on the back gratefully as he went past. He didn't have time to focus on their fire right now.

Isaac caught his gaze before he was over to him, and a little smile appeared on the twenty-two-year-old victor's face. "Well, if it isn't the chosen victor!" he shouted as soon as Carlo was within earshot. A few people around him looked over at them, all of them in awe of his presence. Not so much of Carlo's yet, but he'd be there by this time next year.

"If it isn't my mentor," Carlo answered, reaching out to shake his hand. God, his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you're kind of waking all of us up," he said, grinning as they gave each other a polite shake. "But it seems like this is the place to be."

"I hope so!" he said, nodding.

Oh, fuck. _I hope so_? What the hell was that? Isaac was too powerful. He was obviously some kind of god of love, and his appearance was everything that Carlo found hot. He was sucked in by his greatness. It didn't help that in every interview he'd ever seen, and every time he'd ever briefly interacted with the guy, he was the most charming person in the world.

"How do you feel about volunteering in less than a month?" Isaac asked him, his eyes alight. Carlo would be the first person he mentored. Along with whoever his district partner was, of course. If he brought home a victor, he might just be chosen as the mentor over his mom should she ever wish to go back to it. So this year was pretty important for him, if this was what he wanted to be doing.

"Pretty good," Carlo said.

He did, too. He was at the best point of his training he'd ever been at, and he was ready to do this for his mom. It was his last chance, and it was all she'd ever wanted out of him since he was old enough to go into the Academy with her. His little sister had started getting excited about it, too, and the little kid in him got just as excited as she did when she asked which house he would pick when he won. There was one a few houses down from Isaac's, down at the end of the neighborhood. It was big and a gentle green, and closer to Yue's house than where he lived now. His eye had been on that one.

"Isaac!" the familiar voice of Luis Barnes called. Luis motioned for him to come over there, so Carlo stepped back to show he didn't mind if he left the conversation.

"I'll see you around, Mr. Chosen Victor," Isaac said with a wink, and then he disappeared into the crowd.

If there was any sturdy wall nearby to dramatically lean against, he'd already be there, his head leaned back and his eyes staring up at the sky as he contemplated Isaac Welsh.

* * *

Well into the wee hours of the night, everyone who hadn't already dissipated around eleven started to leave the beach. The bonfire went way down, and most of the people left were sitting around it, talking and telling stories. Those inside were doing much the same, but quieter for those who had decided to stick around at Yue's overnight to save themselves a dangerous drive home.

Carlo said goodnight to everyone when he felt like he was about to pass out standing up if he didn't make it to a bed. He made his way upstairs and into his room. Guy was still there at the edge of the bed, and spread out in the rest of the bed was also Mako and Eli. It seemed Arturo had left. Carlo got out of his clothes and into something more comfortable for bed, something that didn't have salt water and a bit of spilled beer soaked into it.

Yue came up behind him and turned him around before he could collapse in bed with the other guys. She smiled and tugged him by both hands into her room. Her girlfriend wasn't there, surprisingly, but that was okay with him. It meant it was time for a Yue Talk.

They laid down on her bed and got under the covers. She switched her light off and Carlo's eyes fell shut. For a moment it seemed like they were just going to sleep like that, without talking, and Carlo wasn't upset about that. He had had a long night—a good one, but still undeniably a long one.

But just before he slipped away, she whispered like anyone would be able to hear them through the walls, like it was a secret at all. "I love you, Carlo."

He smiled, not bothering to open his eyes. "What would I do without you, Yue?"

"Not have a house to party at, that's for sure," she reminded him.

It was quiet for a little bit again, but Carlo wasn't as tired now. He couldn't keep his mind clear. This would probably be his last big party before the reaping, although not even his last few weeks of training for the Games could keep him away from spending time with his friends. He'd never really been close with his parents, although he had a soft spot for his sister. But friends were what mattered. People like Yue, the three in his bed, meeting people like Isaac Welsh—even if he wasn't born and bred for the Hunger Games, they would give him purpose.

"Are you going to miss me while I'm in the arena?" he asked Yue quietly. He knew what her answer would be, of course, but he didn't care. It wasn't about not knowing.

Yue reached out and took his hand, bringing it to the space in the bed between them. He opened his eyes and looked at her shadow in the dark. The moonlight wasn't enough for him to really see her, but he knew her blonde curls and hazel eyes well enough that he didn't need light.

"Carlo, I'm going to miss you like hell," she said, her voice amused at the question. "I can't say the same for everybody else, though."

He laughed and shook his head, burying his face halfway in her pillow. "No, I guess I'm a lot."

"You are in fact," she agreed, squeezing his hand. She let go and turned away from him, shifting so she had some of the blanket bunched up in her arms. It was a damn good thing her comforter was big, he thought as he drifted off.

* * *

 **it's the man. the myth. the legend. The Fucking Meme Man.**

 **yah so there's like 3 (technically 4?) plots: the y'know. Games Plot. then the Romance Plot. and then... the Meme Plot. bc yeehaw. and then there's the intermissions, which will start next chapter and there will be another one after d9**

 **also another note for how shit's goin down. i'm moving natalia's chapter to be after the intermission chapter once i have that written so that everything is in order. that means that chapter 2 will suddenly be chapter 11 or whatever. and in chapter 2's place i'll just put some random bullshit so as not to lose the reviews & shit. it'll probably just be a writing exercise that fits the tone & is in the hunger games universe so that it's not completely irrelevant but also doesn't throw off the flow. **

**also another couple of notes: yue is pronounced you-eh like yue from avatar the last airbender bc Icon. also i wanna make it very very clear in case it wasn't already that carlo isn't cheating on any of his boyfriends, nor are any of them cheating on him. he's just in a very, very open relationship. with several guys. he's like that. also carlo is from my buddy ash**

 **let me know what you thought of the chapter & carlo! chapter question: how do you think everybody is gonna react to this absolute thor-like chad frat boy bastard that carlo is? **


	11. The Incident in One

come a little closer, my dear.  
i don't think you heard us the first time,  
and you'll be dying to know  
what we have to say.

* * *

 **Eirene Luna**

 _ **Head Gamemaker**_

THE CAPITOL

It wasn't reaping day if Eirene wasn't lounging in a comfortable chair, cocktail in hand, with Isidora at her side fretting more than she was about how this would play out for the Games. Every single tribute was an issue for her wife, every year, even those who Eirene was immediately excited about. But it was kind of endearing, the way she worried for Eirene's job as if the Hunger Games were worth bothering herself over. She had a _brilliant_ Head Gamemaker, after all, and an entire country to concern herself with otherwise.

They usually watched the reapings in their mansion until around District Four, at which time Isidora would go off to do her presidential duties and rely on recaps and Eirene's descriptions later on to get caught up. She could just watch the reruns of the reapings later on, like most of the Capitol citizens who couldn't get out of working on reaping day did, but she always waved it off.

The District One reaping began with their Mayor Danilee and the escort, Miss Angeline. Eirene was very fond of her. She wasn't too overbearing like some of them, nor was she too drab like others. When Eirene thought of an escort, she thought of Miss Angeline, one of their finest in years. And she held great conversation at their parties, too.

Their first tribute was reaped and volunteered for quickly, and Eirene leaned forward in her seat to see who would be their District One girl. She was beautiful, as nearly all those who came from District One were. Blonde, wavy hair, but rather small. She didn't look like a lifetime of training had done much for her. Eirene wondered if she was supposed to be volunteering at all.

But she looked confident, announcing her name as Dazzle Carlton to the crowd. Something about the way she moved, the way she spoke—she knew who she was and what she was after. She would be fun to play with in the arena.

"Oh, does she look a little thin?" Isidora asked. "Not very Career-like—"

"She's perfect, Isi," Eirene told her, waving her off. She took another sip of her cocktail and sat back again. Things were off to a good start, if maybe a little unconventional. But unconventional was good. Unconventional could be played off of.

 _Oh, well, this is really a treat,_ Miss Angeline said in District One as she saw who was reaped. Eirene grinned in amusement. District One always managed to put their very best onstage before their even better volunteered. Very _coincidental_ , that was. _Hall Silversmith!_

Oh. That really was a treat. Eirene had never met Hermes Silversmith, not caring much for fashion, but he was a big enough name that the Capitol knew him well, that many Capitolites preferred him to the fashion that was produced in their very home. She knew that Hermes and his boy had traveled to the Capitol before. Actually, she remembered the first time it was cleared by Isidora, when she came home from work saying that the nice fashion designer from One wanted to make a business visit. Now, it was something of a regular occurrence, to hear that Hermes was back in the Capitol doing another photo shoot and promotional trip with his son.

"I know he'll never volunteer, but wouldn't that be interesting?" Isidora said, looking over at Eirene. "Hermes Silversmith's son. The city would fawn over him."

Their attention was jerked back to the television when the sound of a bomb going off was sent through District One. Isidora was on her feet before Eirene could process what was going on, already leaving their lounging room. Eirene leaned forward in confusion, trying to see through the moving cameras what was happening. She could see fire behind the Justice Building, and the scrambling of the citizens to get out of the way. The camera was shut off and the screen automatically adjusted to the next angle, which was right in the thick of it. Peacekeepers were herding those on the stage into the Justice Building, but it seemed that part of the stage had been caught.

Then everything cut out, and she was on her feet to figure out what was happening.

Isidora's office was already crowded with people, and she heard Isidora and Joal Andaius above everyone else, the two of them arguing over what just happened. As Isidora insisted that it must have been some kind of accident, Andaius interrupted her with something about "rebels," and the room fell silent.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Luna, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," a guard at the door said. His partner was already shuffling the handful of other officials who weren't authorized for this kind of conversation out of the room.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped. "That's my wife, and these are _my_ Games."

She started to push past him, but he grabbed her arm and escorted her out personally. She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but his grip was strong enough to leave bruises.

"Yeah, you're fired as fuck," she said, pointing at him. "Soon as Isidora is free. Pack your shit, buddy."

She stormed off and found a place to sit. This was her fucking house, and they were keeping her out of her wife's office. Fine, her position didn't give her clearance for government information, but surely her _marriage to her wife_ did something! It wasn't like she didn't already know a good number of Panem secrets already, the same as her wife already knew plenty of secrets about these Games. They were not secretive partners.

It was an hour later that Isidora finally left the office. She stood up when she saw her walking by and fell in step. "What's going on?"

Isidora gave her a reassuring smile. "I've got it under control," she said, but her voice was tight. "I hear you took the liberty to fire the guard who kicked you out."

Eirene shrugged. "Well."

"How your temper never got in the way of your career will always be a mystery to me," Isidora said. She slipped her hand into Eirene's, fingers intertwining.

"My temper is what _makes_ the Games interesting, dear," she reminded Isidora.

If the situation was right, she would bring up the year that annoying tribute from Six started pissing on the body of the boy from One that he had just killed, saying, "This one's for you, Mrs. President!" He had met a very grisly fate by mutt that night.

"Now tell me," she said, moving closer to her, her voice lower. "What's going on?"

Isidora looked over at her and shook her head. "I have to go, love. Let me know how the reapings go tonight."

Her wife dropped her hand and sped up, walking ahead of Eirene with her lips sealed.

* * *

 **Tan Nolan**

 _ **Victor of the 81st Hunger Games**_

DISTRICT ONE

The victors were brought downstairs, to the bunker in the basement below the Justice Building. He had never known that _this_ was here.

The Peacekeepers behind them were treating them like they weren't victors, but some common fuckers who needed protecting. The common fuckers were actually running around outside, causing more chaos if the gunshots he had heard when they were above ground were anything to go by. They shoved at Tan, urging him down the stairs quicker, and once they were down there, they left the three victors alone, the door above them shut.

It was nearly pitch dark down in this bunker, the only light coming from a flashlight that someone must have shoved in Cecil Kenneth's hands. And not a very good one at that. He waved it around, looking for a lightswitch, and eventually they found one over by the door. Tan walked up the stairs and flicked it on, and an ominous, yellowish glow filled the room.

"Well, this is almost worse than the flashlight," Magnus Whitechurch muttered.

The youngest of the four victors from District One, Magnus looked like he was about to faint from everything that was going on. He hadn't been alive at the time of the second rebellion. Granted, Tan had only been around eleven, but he still remembered Peacekeepers bursting into their homes the moment that District One turned over to the rebels' side. His family had always been loyalists, but no one was trusted when the Capitol's pets gave in.

"Who the hell is causing all this trouble?" Cecil said. He found something to sit on and let out a sigh, shaking his head. "What's the point in all this?"

"Chaos," Tan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because it should have been. That's all that these idiots wanted. They wished for chaos, pain, suffering. Those who knew shit about anything understood that the very first Hunger Games weren't the entertainment that they had come to be: they were punishment, and well-deserved from this kind of behavior.

"The Capitol institutes universities, travel requests, and they do this. What more do they want?" Cecil went on.

"Didn't they just announce they would help the drug situation in Six?" Magnus added.

"Exactly!" Cecil said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Oh, hell, no one is ever happy anymore. Where is Nicolette?"

The door above them opened, but Nicolette wasn't the one pushed down the stairs. This time it was Mayor Danilee, who looked back up at the Peacekeepers and shouted in his deep, all-encompassing voice, "What are you doing? I should be up there helping!"

The door slammed behind him.

He huffed and kicked the floor before he turned to see the others who were in the room. His eyes fell on all three of them before he spoke again. "Ah, so they rounded you up, too," he said. "Something isn't right."

"No offense, Mayor Danilee," Magnus said, leaning against the wall behind him, "but something _other_ than the rebels bombing District _One?_ "

"Aurum, where is Nicolette?" Tan asked. He and the mayor knew each other well enough—at least enough for them to be on a first-name basis. He, Cecil, and the mayor had had drinks together before. Nicolette had never been a fan of authority, which she strangely took out on people like the mayor, but not so much the big authority like in the Capitol. Tan supposed that was because Aurum was a forgiving guy who didn't much think about those who didn't like him in the district, whereas the Capitol could brand you a rebel for speaking ill of the president in such a public position as hers.

"They took her and the tributes out back," he said. "Put them in the car to go to the train."

"So they're really taking that boy?" Magnus burst out, stepping forward. "They're taking that scrawny twelve-year-old _model_ into the Games?"

"I guess so," the mayor told them. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "It makes sense. They need to get them out of One quickly. And we can't exactly turn the cameras back on for a volunteer."

"That's a fucking disgrace to District One," Magnus said, his voice full of outrage. He marched over to the stairs like he'd be able to burst down the door and replace the District One boy himself. "We can't just let him die out there like a regular tribute!"

"Do you think anyone wants that? Do you think anyone wants _Hermes Silversmith's_ son in the Games? With all the shit he will cause over it?" Cecil snapped, stepping in. Magnus Whitechurch's attitude was not a favorite amongst the three older victors, and Nicolette complained to no end when she was mentoring him.

"I should be up there," the mayor said, his face contorted into a frown. He shook his head.

"They're just protecting us," Tan said, not thinking that it was significant that he was down there. Aurum Danilee was an important, beloved guy in District One. Of course he wouldn't be out there in the thick of everything that was going on.

"Us, and no one else?" he pointed out. "You think there's no one else influential or important in District One? Hell, Silversmith should be down here with us!"

"And if it really is so dangerous that Aurum has to be down here with us," Cecil said, seeming to come to the same conclusion as the mayor now, "why did they send the tributes and everyone else off to the train? When their car could be targeted?"

"Come to think of it, I didn't recognize any of those Peacekeepers," Mayor Danilee said. "They're wearing helmets, yeah, but I know the high-ranking Peacekeepers here."

Tan's face paled. There _had_ been a man…

"They're targeting us," Magnus said, but before "us" was even out of his mouth, the door swung open again. No one was pushed down here this time. Instead, it was a Peacekeeper, walking slowly down the steps.

* * *

 **Violetta Bane**

 _ **News Reporter**_

THE CAPITOL

Violetta had heard the news of District One—everyone had. Everyone had been watching the reapings as it occurred, and she had been waiting for permission to report on it all day long. Part of her felt that they would keep it a secret, that they would hide it. She was certain it was the rebels, after all, emerging after twenty-five years of hiding.

But when her script for that evening's news was given to her, she felt relieved to the core. It had been an accident from inside the Justice Building. The resulting chaos had occurred in response to the threat of rebels, with no casualties occurring from the gunfire. It had been confusion. She could understand that.

She read through the news to the Capitol, but as she got to the end, she couldn't keep a brief frown off her face. That was new, and— Oh, God.

"I'm getting word that there were some casualties from the explosion this morning in District One," she announced gravely. "Mayor Aurum Danilee and victors Cecil Kenneth, Tan Nolan, and Magnus Whitechurch were killed in the blast."

* * *

 **this one was so much fun! so here's a further look into what happened in district one at the end of hall & dazzle's reaping, and the subplot of the story. **

**a reminder: the chapter after this one is going to be natalia's reposted, which i'll probably do in a few hours, and chapter 2 is going to turn into a writing exercise when i do that.**

 **so let me know what you thought! chapter question: did you see any of that coming? what do you think is uhhh Going On?**


	12. Heartbeat: District Five

i lay down in the grass and tell you  
"be careful, my dear," my voice  
soft, and quiet, because i know  
that no one wants to hear this  
"this world collects souls, and ours  
are not safe from the harvest"

* * *

 **Natalia Orson** **(14)**

 _ **District Five**_

Natalia woke up in pitch black, and her heart seemed to pick up like an engine revving to life. She couldn't see anything. Couldn't feel anything except the concrete floor underneath her and wall behind her. Couldn't feel anything except the moist, cool air of a basement.

She couldn't remember anything. She couldn't remember how last night went. Shit— _Shit_ —

She stood up and felt for something to hold onto, to guide herself with. The wall was as good as any, and she slowly walked her way around the room. There was nothing for two whole turns, and then she bumped into a little table, and what felt like a wooden chair. She navigated around it, slowly, and then found stairs. Up, quietly, as quietly as possible, because if she was where she thought she was—

Oh, fuck, why was she so _sticky?_ What was this—?

The door. She opened it slowly, grateful that it was unlocked, thank goodness, thank the fucking universe—

She put a hand on her chest, and her shirt was stiff, and wow, it was dark up here, too; blinds all closed on windows, windows far away from her in this hallway. There was no sound. Just the rapid beating heart deep in her chest. It sounded like a drumbeat in this empty house.

Okay, find a way out. Find a way out. She didn't know if she was saying this out loud, she was just reeling, walking, her head dizzy, spinning—

Oh. She could see now. She was covered in _blood_ , that was what was so sticky, so stiff on her shirt. Okay. Okay, get out first. She wasn't hurt—or maybe she was, but it was probably okay right now. She needed to get out. Find Silas. Just find Silas.

Another door. Good. Another door. She went over to it, quickly, and it didn't hurt to run, it didn't hurt to do anything except for think when she was pretty sure she was hyperventilating and she felt pretty certain that _something_ was behind her and she was _going_ to die.

Once she was outside, she felt like collapsing. She was in the outskirts of town, where she figured she was. The woods out back of this house last night had felt safe, with ten other people she knew gathered together by flashlight, waiting for her so they could do something stupid. Something stupid and dangerous, but it was okay, it should've been okay.

Silas didn't live far from here. Just on the other side of this patch of woods. She just had to get there. And it didn't matter what questions they asked her, because she honestly didn't know the answers. So it was okay, she was safe, she'd be okay.

She stumbled through the woods, hardly watching where she was going, hardly seeing tree trunks and limbs laying out in front of her. When Silas's house came into view, she picked up the pace, nearly falling more times than she placed an actually steady footstep, but she got there, she got there.

She barely had to knock on the door before Silas opened it for her, and immediately his eyes widened.

"Natalia…?"

She broke down, gasping between sobs as she tried to tell him she woke up in that basement, but nothing she got out was at all comprehensible.

Silas guided her into the house, brought her into the bathroom before his parents could see what state she was in. She sat at the edge of the tub filled with water and put her face in her hands, trying to breathe deeply to stop the crying. She didn't even know why. She couldn't remember what happened, she _couldn't remember_.

"Natalia," Silas said, reaching out to her with a wet rag. He must have gotten it wet in the sink, and she didn't even notice. "What happened? Where the hell did you go last night? You scared the shit out of us, and now you're— you're covered in blood, and you're not talking, and you're freaking me out."

"I know!" she said, looking up at him. "I know, I know, I get that, okay? But I don't know what happened. I just _woke up_ down there."

"Everyone was scared shitless, you know," he told her, and his eyebrows were creased in the way they always were when he was scared. Her stomach was twisted in knots. "Fuck, Nat, you can't just disappear on us and come back covered in blood."

"I don't know what happened!" she said. "I don't know _why._ They must have caught me."

He shook his head. "Nat, if they'd have caught you, you'd be covered in your _own_ blood, and you don't look hurt to me."

"Okay, so, what?" she asked, honestly wondering if he could come up with some kind of explanation. "I go to get the drugs, don't bring them, and a little cloud of blood rain drives me down to the basement?"

He turned a glare at her. "Don't be an ass. Something must've happened on the way there."

She shook her head. That made some sense, but she didn't know what the hell _would_ happen, especially if she didn't come back all night long. They had planned this ridiculous night-before-the-reaping Fuck Everything Party for months, had run through how she was going to sneak in to get their drugs. But they hadn't planned for something happening to her on the way, because that was just ridiculous.

"I've got to go home," she said shakily, although she was sure her parents weren't worried. But her clothes were still stiff and bloodied and it was starting to make her feel sick and dizzy. She couldn't worry about this anymore. She just had to _go_ —

Silas grabbed her arm before she could disappear and sat her back down on the edge of the bath. "No, Nat, I don't think you should." He looked down at her from where he was standing, seeming to tower over her like the skyscrapers you could see in the Capitol, or the crumbling, abandoned ones you could see in mid-District Five. "I'll get you something to change into. If you're not here when I come back, I swear I'll— I'll be pissed."

He left the bathroom and she was alone, staring at the eggshell walls. Her breath was still coming quicker than normal and her heart was slowly digging its way out of her chest like stories of prisoners digging out of their cells with spoons. She shut her eyes and felt it all at once, felt the sticky clothes, felt the way nothing was really cleaned off of her, felt the empty gap from the night before. It swallowed her down a deep pit and she swam in the confusion, the fear.

It'd just be funny. Haha, how'd she end up in a basement? But the fucking blood, the fucking _blood_ —that scared the shit out of her.

She heard talking outside, Silas telling his parents that Natalia had come over before the reapings. Like it was normal, friends just supporting themselves before something terrifying. And they had done this before, the first year they were in the reapings. It made sense, it could make so much sense if she weren't actually panicking, if she weren't actually wondering if she had hurt someone.

She couldn't do that. She was tiny. Scrawny. _Fourteen._ But some of the people she was trying to steal from, they weren't much better off than she was.

He brought clothes back in to her, from his younger sister. Nat was small enough she'd fit into them. Once he was back out so she could change, she stripped down and scrubbed her skin until it was raw and no longer sticky with the feeling of someone else's blood plastered on her. It reminded her sickeningly of a coat of paint.

She slipped on the button up and skirt when she was clean enough and looked down at herself. Presentable, but she still felt grimy, like the blood was lingering millimeters above her skin, brushing against her when she moved. Kind of like when she felt a bug against her skin, and after that everything that tickled her made her jump thinking it was another one.

She stepped out of the bathroom braiding her hair, wanting it out of her face. It needed washed.

Silas put a hand on her back and guided her into his room. She sat down on his bed and watched him start to pace with his hands on the back of his neck. "Okay, we figure this out after the reaping," he told her. He faced her and pointed at her directly. "But I say we just don't do anything. We don't know what happened, you don't remember. So, hell, nothing must've happened. A weird fluke. Got me?"

Natalia felt like Silas grew up a little bit when they started messing around with things beyond them. He already had to take care of his sister all the time because his parents were never not working to put food on the table.

"How can you just do this?" she asked, her voice small. She wiped at her eyes again. Was it something that came with growing up too soon, making these split decisions, wiping something away like the world was pliable?

He took a step forward and knelt down in front of her, taking her hands. "I just don't want any trouble, Nat. I want whatever this is to go away."

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, trying to see past the irises and into his soul. They were supposed to be a window, after all. But Silas's seemed a little bit more like a brick wall.

* * *

The crowd of the reaping was the last thing she needed. Waiting in line to register felt like she was being watched from all angles. Maybe someone out there knew what had happened the night before. Maybe she wasn't safe out in the open like this. As if she could do anything about that, though.

Silas stood behind her the whole way. When they got there, she saw Rose, who gave her a brief smile. Rose was two years older than both of them, and was the one who let two kids into their reckless group. Natalia would have thought that she would be a little more interested in finding out what happened to her after she disappeared the night before.

She didn't think "Rose" was even her name. She was always so shady, but super sweet when she needed to be. Unfortunately, Natalia fell for the super sweet act 100% of the time it was dished out to her.

"Nat," Silas said behind her, and she realized she hadn't seen the line move forward. She came up to the Peacekeeper sitting at the registration table.

"Name."

"Natalia Orson."

One little pinprick and away she was sent into the masses of kids certain today would lead to their doom. They all seemed so naive now when she had more pressing things on her mind. Even with all the tesserae she took, there were thousands of names in those bowls. And she had just woken up in a basement in the woods covered in blood. No deity was that cruel.

The fourteen-year-olds were humming with anxious chatting. She could never perfectly see the stage over the heads of all the people older than her, and she didn't want to anyway. Ever since she was little, seeing the faces of the people about to be sent off into the Games had given her nightmares. Even the ones who were stoic, who didn't cry, were so fucking terrifying it sent chills down her spine. She remembered one year when a twelve-year-old cooperated perfectly, walking up to the stage the moment his name was called. He hadn't cried or even had watery eyes. He just looked like he had been called to do an upsetting task at school. He haunted her the most, especially since she remembered him dying first in the bloodbath.

She and Silas never spoke before reapings, not since the first year when they were stunned into silence by being guided into roped-off areas like livestock from District Ten. Now it was just routine for them to be silent, to just exist in the same space: shoulders touching, immovable against the writhing, whispering hoard of people around them.

This year, it felt different. There was a secret in the small space that kept their shoulders from touching as they normally did. There was the sound of _Got me?_ echoing in her head, a reminder. Don't say anything. Let it slip away, like Silas said, like Silas wanted.

She daydreamed all through Mayor Grantwood's reading of the Treaty of Treason, and his softspoken words to the tributes soon to be reaped for the Quell. He always seemed like the kind of man who had a warm heart—a little piece of the sun, she always said.

That sun was extinguished with the excitable voice of Dmitri Waterfell taking the reins. He looked as striking as he always did—and of course, striking was more about a fucking shock to the eyes than anything quite fashionable. This year's outfit was bright yellow, the v-neck cut very low down on his waxed, muscled chest. She had heard that Rose's best friend, Lex, had a huge crush on Dmitri. Everyone got a huge laugh from that.

She felt like she was watching herself laugh about Lex's crush on Dmitri from afar. She could see herself at the party last night, grinning and slipping into conversation with the older kids like it was her favorite shirt. It fit just right, even as they asked her to risk her life for a little something to drink.

"Well, my lovely District Five," he called, and his voice danced in her ears like sounds did when she was high. She put a hand on her chest and it kind of felt like someone was tapping at a wall that she had placed her hand on. But it had slowed down and she could think again, however disconnected her brain was from her thought process. "I've missed you this last year! You think we can start a winning streak here?" He grinned like he was telling a joke. Behind him, this year's mentor grimaced.

Owen Eleksi had only been out of the Games for a year and was already going to be training another set of kids to die. And this year, deaths were almost certain. No way they were lucky enough to win two years in a row. Maybe that was the reason why he was ushered straight into the business.

Natalia looked over at Silas, feeling him stiffen and realizing that at some point they had pushed together instinctively as they had done from the day they were sentient enough to want friends.

"Does he ever know what he's saying?" he whispered, and her chest tightened with the smallest chuckle. The Capitol may have had resources and may not have had to send their children off to die every year, but the districts still had one thing over them: the power to make fun of how absolutely fucking ridiculous they were.

"Everyone cross your fingers for a winner!" Dmitri cried as he stepped over to one of the bowls without announcing who would go first. But the righthand side was always boys, to account for District Five's forgetful escort. He stuck his hand in the stack of names, looking up at the clouds. The sky was really blue, but it was still kind of sticky out in the air that day. She felt grounded as she realized that the humidity was making her feel a little bit like she was breathing in syrup.

Dmitri drew a name out of the glass and opened the piece of paper. Then he looked out into the crowd with a confident glint in his eyes. "Everyone, this feels like one lucky slip of paper. Aren Turing!"

Silence was even harder to breathe than the thick air, but soon a quiet shifting occurred in one of the older groups of people. Natalia could hear a choking sound, and realized that the boy who stepped out into the aisle was crying. He walked very slowly because she didn't see his head pop up above the older kids for longer than usual. He was quickly trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes, but also was producing enough that it was a waste of time.

Crying wasn't the worst. She could see this guy's tears and rest better knowing that the quiet look in that twelve-year-old's eyes years ago would still bring her worse but more familiar nightmares.

Maybe that was horrible, but maybe she was a murderer, too, so Natalia decided that she didn't play in maybes today.

Dmitri put a hand on Aren Turing's back and rubbed for a second as he asked for volunteers, which only seemed to send him into worse hysterics. Oh, poor guy. He would have an awful time getting sponsors like that. She wondered how showing up to the reaping covered in blood would fare with sponsors, and with that she wanted to laugh and throw up at the same time.

"And for the ladies now," Dmitri announced, with a dramatic flare and a show of sticking his hand into the girls' bowl. Every single one of his movements was a production. He drew out a name and unfolded it, reading it over again before announcing to the crowd. The name sang out as loud as the first, but she couldn't hear it. Her ears were ringing too loud, and for a moment she wondered if a bomb had gone off right next to her.

No, the bomb just sounded strangely like the name "Natalia Orson."

Silas's shoulders crumpled and he sank against her almost, a hand around her elbow, begging her not to go.

She couldn't hear anything at all now, except for little snippets of what Silas was saying. Everyone in the square would be able to hear him crying to her. Even Aren Turing had calmed enough to listen.

"Natalia, no— no, someone volunteer— Nat—"

A bigger boy next to Silas pulled his hand off of her arm and the girl in front of her started to make a path for her to go up to the stage. People parted around her, made a path to her grave.

The stage happened before she noticed she had walked up to it, and once she was next to Dmitri, she sat down. In the middle of the reaping stage, she sat down, hyperventilating so hard she was dizzy and sick to her stomach with it.

"Oh… Miss Orson?" Dmitri's hand was outstretched, and he anxiously wiggled it. She didn't take it, but when Aren Turing offered a hand to help her up, she took it with both of her own.

Slowly she came to her feet and shut her eyes, focusing on staying upright as Dmitri droned on. It could have been millennia before he finished speaking so she could be ushered off to the Justice Building, but if it was, she was tucked securely into the black pit she made inside her own mind. It looked suspiciously like the silent blackness of this morning's basement surprise.

* * *

The goodbyes would last up to an hour, so she hoped that all of her other friends would come before Silas. He was the only one she wanted to say goodbye to.

She was on the couch, her hands crossed on her lap. She felt like she was about to be reprimanded by an adult at school, her heart pattering in the same way. As long as it didn't start a sprint as it had this morning.

She realized with a sinking feeling that her numbness had made her exactly the kind of tribute that gave her nightmares.

Silas was the first into the room and she sunk even further into that pit she had created for herself. Their time would be limited this way.

"You should've let someone go in front of you," she told him before he could say anything. He was already kneeling down in front of her, taking her hands out of her lap. "I want to spend the most time with you."

"Nat…" He looked up into her eyes, and she thought he was going to ignore her comment and go straight into their goodbyes. "Nat, there's no one else coming."

She frowned at him. She felt like she'd been punched. "No, Rose'll come. Or Len." She didn't say it aloud, but she had also had the smallest of hopes that her parents would be outside. That they would care.

Silas's breaths were choked. He leaned his forehead on her knees and shook his head. "Just you and me," he whispered.

She looked down at the top of his head for a long time, her breaths starting to pick up again. But she swallowed it down and shifted him out of that position. "Well, don't waste it, you dick," she said, trying for playful, but the tears in his eyes and the rumble in her chest told her that the feeling was lost to the moment. She took Silas's hand and placed it over his heart. "You're the only asshole who could put up with me apparently." She choked out a laugh, but he didn't return it.

He nodded and moved up to the couch with her, wrapped her up in a hug.

She shut her eyes with Silas's arms around her. The walls seemed to be painted with dead eyes up on a reaping stage. Now she understood that boy's face. He was just silently preparing for the mark of his death. For a canon over a bloody arena.

* * *

 **wahoo this bitch natalia was made by me a long ass time ago and i adapted her a little bit and used her for this bc i really like her story**

 **also the poem is by me although i wrote it for a finnpoe fic i never got around to writing lmao but if you like the poems let me know bc i'm going to try to write one for every chapter to flex my poetry bones... i love poetry but i haven't written it in months so the ghost stories poem made me really happy**

 **so this was the natalia chapter, same as before except i'm changing the a/n past this point. if you wanna review the new filler in chapter 2 but already reviewed natalia's, you can just do it here!**

 **other than that here's nat's chapter question: any ideas what happened to her?**


	13. The Reaper's Calendar: District Five

i bought the reaper a calendar the other day.  
sharing mine with her hadn't worked out so well.  
she kept finding all the good days,  
the days i'd circled in bright yellow pen,  
and deciding to go to work then.

* * *

 **Aren Turing (17)**

 _ **District Five**_

 **four months ago**

They never did this anymore, he and his dad. The last time that they went up to the dam, he was probably fourteen. Maybe there was once or twice when he was fifteen, but Aren couldn't remember. This was a habit that they shared when he was little.

"Shit, it's getting warm," his dad said as they walked along. The water rushed down below them. When he was younger, he would peer over the edge while Dad hung onto him, letting him get really close but keeping him grounded safely on the dam. He would always laugh and shriek like he was about to fall. That was probably in the beginning of their walks on the dam, when he was _really_ little. Eventually it had turned into a time to just talk with Dad. Mostly he did the talking, about how the dam worked, but sometimes Aren spoke up. Before his voice started really bothering him, he would talk nonstop up here. Dad was pretty much the only one he could speak nonstop to.

Aren had already shed his jacket on the way over, so he understood where his dad was coming from with the heat. He was sweating his ass off, and a dive off into the cool water below them sounded better than ever, if it wouldn't leave him splattered down at the bottom.

"Don't tell your mother I said shit," Dad said as soon as he realized what he'd done. He turned around from where he was walking ahead of Aren to point at him with a little grin on his face.

He was in a particularly good mood. Not that Dad was really known for being in a bad mood. But he was really cheery, bubbly, like Aren didn't usually see on your average day. It was more like his birthday Dad or holiday Dad self. There was something up his sleeve for sure. He was so bad at hiding that kind of thing.

"I'm calling her as we speak," Aren joked, though his voice was quiet and a little flat.

Dad rolled his eyes. Aren thought he was going to keep walking, but instead he sat down where he was, scooting forward so his legs could dangle over the side. Aren paused and then followed suit, sitting down and swinging his legs. The sun was beating down on them right here, and although he really missed their walks, this time he kind of just wanted to get it over with and find somewhere with shade to talk it out. Whatever was going on, that was.

"Okay," he started, letting out a breath. He turned toward him, looking Aren over for a moment. His eyes were crinkled with a smile he was trying to hold back. "Your mother and I have some news for you, but I thought it'd be best if we delivered it like this."

"Okay…?" Aren cocked his head, getting a little nervous despite the fact that it was a good thing. Nervous maybe wasn't the right word. He was just anxious to know what was going on. He didn't like surprises like this, especially not when they were dragged out.

"Do you remember when you told me you're a boy? Right here?" Dad asked, gesturing around to the dam.

Yeah. Yeah, Aren remembered that. Part of him had known that his dad wouldn't care, that he would be good about it, but he was still worried. And it had still been one of the most awkward things in his entire life. It wasn't like people like him were _unknown_ , especially not in districts like Five that were slowly getting better, but it also wasn't like people went around explaining these things to new parents in case their children turned out to be trans.

"Yeah, Dad," he said, knowing that the news wouldn't continue unless he got some kind of affirmation to the question that should've been pretty rhetorical for anyone else.

"Okay, well. Your mother and I have been trying to make this happen for months. We have the money, and we found a doctor," Dad said.

A doctor? That could really only mean one thing. Well, two things, but only one thing that he had already talked to them about. Testosterone. They were going to make it happen!

"Really?" Aren exclaimed. Maybe Dad wanted to say the words himself, the big reveal, but Aren couldn't contain his excitement. He leaned forward and threw his arms around Dad in a hug, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to let his heart burst with joy. _Just keep pumping long enough to enjoy this_ , he reminded it. It was all that they'd been waiting for, he and his heart. He pulled away from the hug and looked at his dad in the eyes, wanting him to really feel his gratitude. "You're the best parents in the world. I mean that. Thank you."

Dad shook his head, and there were tears in his eyes. Aren laughed and shook his head too, looking out over the dam. He didn't want to cry. He hated crying, especially with his sappy Dad. But it was hard not to, especially when he could feel his dad shaking next to him as he wiped the tears out of his eyes.

"Oh, Aren, we love you," he said, his voice breaking in the middle of "love," but it was more of a half-laugh half-cry. "We knew we had to make this happen for you, pal."

Aren let out a quick, concentrated breath, focusing all of his efforts on not letting his eyes fill up with tears. He looked up at the sky, the sun getting straight into his eyes, and when he no longer felt like he would break down into sobs at any moment, he looked over at Dad again.

"When?" he asked. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, but he knew that Dad would understand. He was just excited. It was time to cut to the chase.

"The doctor's appointment is next Monday. We'll listen to what he says and go from there," he said. "Now, we think it might be a couple weeks before anything big happens, of course, because he's a traveling doctor. From Thirteen! But within the next month."

Within the next month. Within the next month, his dream for years would become a reality. Now he couldn't keep the tears out of his eyes and he choked out a laugh, looking down at the water below them as he wiped the tears from his eyes. His dad put an arm around his shoulders and he leaned against him like he was young again. He wasn't going to outright cry, but it would take more energy than he had within him to keep himself from getting emotional altogether.

He had always known that it would maybe be a possibility one day. His father helped to build the very dam they sat on, so comparatively in District Five, they lived comfortably, without too many wants and needs going unsatisfied. So the hormones that were, to many, a far-off fantasy were always just shy of reality for Aren. But he had never wanted to beg his parents to spend that kind of money on him. Part of him had assumed it would stay a dream unless he became an engineer like his father to find the money for himself.

Now it was real. It was real.

They stood back up, both of them sniffling and holding in their tears with smiles on their faces as they walked the rest of the length of the dam in silence. When they were on the other end, they found a tree to stand under for a minute, a brief relief from the heat beating down on them. Aren leaned back against the bark, wondering how things were going to be for him in a month. This wasn't a magical cure to fix how he felt about his body and his voice entirely, but it was revolutionary.

"You look so much happier than you have lately," Dad remarked, his voice thoughtful and quiet.

Aren didn't like this line of conversation, though. He didn't really care to tell anyone exactly what he was feeling, even if this was a bonding moment that he and Dad hadn't had in a long time. "I'm excited," he said, because that was the shortest way to sum up everything that was racing through his chest.

They started walking back home again, and his dad fell into a ramble about work, the dam that they were building now. Aren listened closely, although he would be just as happy if his mind was wandering now. But he liked to hear about his dad's work. He liked to imagine that he'd be in that position one day, working on dams for hydroelectric power, dams that would affect all of Panem.

When they got back home, his mom was grinning at him, and she pulled him close into a tight hug. She asked if Dad had explained any of the logistics to him, about the appointment next Monday and the doctor from Thirteen and how it would be within the month, all the things Aren already knew but that she wanted to tell him again anyway.

"Can I go out with Ray and Karma?" he asked them once the excitement died down a little. He was dying to tell someone else that it was all finally coming true.

"Oh! Yeah, go ahead," his mom said, looking to Dad to see if he didn't mind either. When he waved him away, Aren nodded and went out the door.

Karma would be at home, and the two of them could find out where Ray was together. He had the bus money for both of them to go around looking.

The walk to Karma's was no worse than the walk with Dad, but he figured he'd stop at his friend's house for a bit before heading out again. He didn't want to give himself a heat stroke and ruin the whole day.

Karma's mom opened the door for him when he got there, and she invited him in with a smile. "Aren Turing, you get out of this god-awful heat right now," she told him, ushering him into the kitchen before he knew what was going on. She had him sitting down at their table sipping at a glass of water before she even called Karma in from his room, and as soon as his friend saw what his mom was inflicting on Aren, his face went beet red.

"Mom, come on," Karma said, motioning for her to get out of the kitchen. She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly as she walked out to let Karma and Aren talk.

Karma sat down next to him. "Dude, have you been walking all day or something? You look like you're dying," he said.

Aren shrugged. "Dad took me out to the dam."

"Oh, you guys haven't done that in forever," Karma said.

He couldn't hold it in. Part of him had been thinking to wait until they found where Ray was that day to tell Karma, but if he did, he'd be bursting at the seams with the news by the time the three of them were together.

"It was to tell me they're going to get me on T," he said, his face breaking as his lips turned up in an uncontrollable smile and the corners of his eyes wrinkled with the excitement. "Within this month."

Karma lit up for him, a genuine smile on his face, too. "Really? That's really great, dude!"

Aren felt like he was on top of the world for a little bit, for just a day. He couldn't care about anything else in the world but this feeling.

* * *

 **present day**

Reaping day came quicker than it ever did this year. It seemed that not all that long ago it was unnaturally hot days in March, it was the whirlwind of the doctor's appointment for T, it was things swinging his way. Now, it was waking up in the morning and searching for where he left his binder, so he could morbidly dress up for the kids that they would send off to the reaping this year.

Reaping mornings were quiet things, planning for the rest of the day with clouds hanging over the conversation, wondering who would be leaving, who wouldn't be able to finish their plans for the rest of the day. Aren wasn't sure if every family did this, but he felt like his parents planned things out as if that would _stop_ the reaping from grabbing him up. Like saying that they would go to the store on the way home would ensure that his name was not going to be drawn. How could it be, when he had to help his parents carry groceries inside?

"Aren," Dad called while he was getting dressed, so he quickened his pace. It was easier to get out there before his dad called again than to yell in response. When he was in the hallway outside of his room, his dad patted him on the shoulder. "I was thinking of taking you into work next week, how's that sound?"

He felt electric, nodding to Dad as he searched for the words. He needed more experience if he wanted to go to one of the schools in Five. Applications cost money and he needed something that would guarantee him a spot in the engineering program to ensure it wasn't a waste. Going and seeing the kind of stuff he would be doing after school would be one of the things he needed. And, of course, he just really liked seeing that shit.

"Thank you," he finally settled on. He had gotten a little more comfortable with his voice lately as it slowly started the process of dropping some, but it was still a habit of his to keep his words to a minimum like before, when his voice was nothing but a shitty reminder of what he didn't need reminded.

Dad nodded and as they went down the hallway together, he said, "You're looking dapper, son. I swear every day you get older and older."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-confused smile. He didn't think that nice pants and a button up were excessively "dapper," and didn't know what that had to do with the progression of time. "Well, that's… that's what aging does, yeah."

Dad chuckled and shook his head. "No, I mean every day, you're already older, smarter. You're gonna be out of the house before Mom and I know what to do about it," he explained.

Now they were in the kitchen, with Mom bustling around to make sure everything was shut off and she had money and keys for the bus fare and groceries. Dad's eyes looked a little bittersweet as he watched her pull the keys out of her pocket where she hadn't realized she put them.

"Okay, let's go," Mom said, smiling at the two, but her heart wasn't in it. Her eyes still held the reaping day storm clouds in them.

* * *

At the reaping, he got lost in the people before he could find Ray and Karma. Normally they all stood together, but he guessed that one year without that wouldn't really matter. It just made Aren nervous, like one of them was already swept away, scooped up into the Games before the reaping had even started.

Shit, the _thought_ of seeing either of them on screen just made him sick to his stomach.

It was times like these, standing in the square and watching Dmitri Waterfell take the stage, when anger fucking suffocated him for a moment, when all he could feel for the Capitol was bitterness. Dmitri spoke, his bright yellow getup making it hard to focus too much on the words he spewed. And it seemed he was always spewing, even greeting them as _My lovely District Five_. Yeah, they were really quite lovely when they died.

"You think we can start a winning streak here?" he asked, eagerly looking out over the crowd. He really was just clueless to bring up their first victor in twenty-five years, and think that anyone would draw conclusions other than that the two reaped this year would not be coming back. They weren't lucky enough to have victors from Five two years in a row.

Not to mention—even if that were possible, only _one_ of them would be coming back, and not on accident like last year when Owen Eleksi's district partner was killed when they were separated. This year, they wouldn't be partnered up with home.

Aren tried to tune Dmitri's words out as he blabbered before every action about District Five winning. This was just a slap in the face with their odds being extremely well-known by everyone in the square _except_ him, apparently.

When he drew out the boy's name, he told the crowd, "Everyone, this feels like one lucky slip of paper." There was a split second pause, a moment where the Earth paused to listen in. "Aren Turing!"

Everyone went so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat in his chest.

How could they pull out his name?

He had groceries to help put away. He had his dad's work to go see. He had the top surgery fund his parents had started to put together for the future. He had Ray and Karma wanting to hang out this weekend.

He had his entire life sitting in front of him, waiting for him to join it at the dinner table, but death came and stole his seat.

A couple people who knew him started to move out of the way, and everyone got the gist. Move for Aren. Move for the poor tribute guy.

He choked out a sob before he realized that he was even crying, and when he reached up to his eyes the tears were already drawing streaks down his face.

Up on the stage, Dmitri put a hand on his back, rubbing little circles that were meant to be… comforting? While he was reaped?

"Are there any volunteers?" he asked, looking out at the crowd.

Aren felt his lip quiver and another sob burst out of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be anywhere else, but Dmitri wouldn't stop talking. He moved onto the girls' bowl and Aren wanted to break a hole in the stage below him so he could disappear down there. He wanted to hide from his fate.

* * *

After Karma and Ray left the Justice Building, Mom and Dad came in, rushing in to sandwich Aren between them. Mom was already crying, and Dad seemed just shy of it. Which just sent Aren right back at it.

"Oh, honey, no," Mom said, her voice swallowed up by the crying, so it was choppy and choked. It sounded like the words clawed their way out involuntarily.

Dad pulled away long enough to look at his face, shaking his head over and over. It just didn't stop, and maybe it wouldn't for long as Aren was a tribute, for as long as they refused to go back out to the stage and take someone else. Someone who had more of a chance than he did.

"My boy. My boy," Dad said, and finally he shut his eyes and turned his head as the crying caught up with him. Aren's shoulders were shaking. He couldn't do this. He couldn't watch Dad break right in front of his eyes.

He remembered the first time Dad had called him his boy. It was on the dam, the very day that Aren told him he wasn't a girl. He had stumbled at first, confused, but ultimately he just listened to Aren. And when it had become too much that day, the emotions hitting him despite how good it went, Aren had started crying, so Dad wrapped him up in a hug. He had brought him close, whispering, "You're my boy. It's okay. You're my boy."

He was caught there, remembering a million different things from a life that wasn't supposed to end like this, from a life that went on far beyond eighteen years. He remembered how he had cleaned his room a few nights ago, getting tired of all the clutter, but it had been miserably boring. All he had wanted to do was go hang out with Karma, but he told himself he couldn't until the room was clean. It ended up taking so long that he just stayed home. Would he have bothered if he knew? He remembered the last time he was shitty to someone—Riley Ekra, because he had a grudge on her from the way she broke up with Karma so abruptly and unfeelingly, so Aren was always short with her. But now was it worth it?

Mom let out a shaky breath that didn't quite end her crying, so she tried at it again until she was finally calm enough to speak, and then she moved away from the hug as well. "Okay," she said, her voice raw. "Aren, I love you so much, it's killing me." She gasped and put a hand on his knee, steadying herself. "And I need you to know that you are a brave, _brave_ kid. So I want you to come home. And I know it's going to hurt, and it's not fair, but there are too many people here who need your light in their life. Okay?"

Aren sniffled and nodded. "Okay. Okay. I'll try, Mom," he whispered.

Dad was shaking his head again. "No, you can't doubt yourself, Aren. You can't afford that."

"Okay," he said again, wiping tears out of his eyes. "Okay. I love you."

A Peacekeeper opened the door and he knew exactly what that meant. His heart sunk in his chest and he watched as they stepped into the room, motioning for his parents to leave. They wrapped their arms around him again, both falling back into tears. Aren squeezed them as tight as he could, hands bunching up the fabric of the backs of their shirts. He didn't want to let them go, but they stood up and his grip on them fell away.

Once they were gone, the Peacekeeper said, "Time to go, kid," and Aren lost it.

At first it was just hyperventilating, but then when he stood up it was sobbing again, and the Peacekeeper's arm was on his back to guide him along. But then he started yelling, thrashing away from the Peacekeeper's touch. He didn't want to get on that train. He didn't want to leave District Five.

"No!" he shrieked, going back into his goodbyes room. Bring his parents back, let them take him home, let him move on in peace, let him forget this ever happened. Let him live, _let him live._ "No! No!"

"Let's go peacefully, kid," the Peacekeeper said, grabbing his arm to bring him outside forcefully.

His parents were still out in the lobby. When he saw them he pulled as hard as he could away from the Peacekeeper's grip, but he wasn't strong enough.

"No! Mom! _Dad!_ "

The Peacekeeper jerked on him and now he was really just yelling, screaming, thrashing against them as hard as he could, knowing nothing would come of it, but he couldn't walk peacefully out to that car. He couldn't when his dad's voice echoed in his mind, and the last hug he ever shared with Ray and Karma, and the way he made the bed before the reaping so it would be more comfortable that night, and fuck, fuck, fuck—who was going to help them carry the groceries in?

* * *

 **hehehe this one is specifically written to make my best friend ash cry bc aren is from ash i just want everyone to know i'm forcing them to be on the phone with me when i drop this so that i'm there when they read it and cry**

 **chapter question: was there anything really particularly sad about this chapter & aren to you? **


	14. Gasoline Fumes: District Six

these bones are made of metal,  
these blood vessels are oiled.  
the heart constricts to make all these pieces run.  
fumes of gasoline escape from exhales.  
these parts and pieces are easier to understand  
than the mind we put inside,  
with the skull bolted down to keep it trapped.

* * *

 **Balisong Thatcher (16)**

 _ **District Six**_

The pieces of Vera's tablet were spread out across the table in front of Balisong, and they leaned so close to all of them that it might have seemed to other people like they were trying to see even the tiniest details to determine what was wrong with it. They scanned over the items for a long moment, a very small screwdriver in one hand, the fingers of the other drumming rhythms onto the arm of the chair. It seemed like this was a lost cause, which they could tell from the moment Vera had asked if they could fix her tablet. But if they didn't at least try to figure out how to fix it, she would stop bringing all the things she wanted fixing to them. And if that stopped happening, they would stop getting extra cash here and there for more upgrades to the chair.

Vera leaned back in her seat, eyes roaming over Balisong's work. She sipped at the tea she'd ordered, and the slurpy noises indicating she'd reached the bottom of the glass snapped them out of their act.

"Well," they said gravely, as if they had tried with all their might and had struggled long enough, "I don't know if there's anything I can do, Miss Halber. It seems—"

She knew that that meant Balisong was about to go off on a tangent about what exactly was wrong with the tablet, so she put up a hand to stop them and stood up, grabbing the broken tablet. "Well, thanks anyway, Bailey," she said. "Hey, good luck today."

Balisong didn't trust her. They knew that she meant the good luck sincerely—it would almost be cruel to wish bad luck on someone during a reaping day—but there was something about her that didn't seem like the kind of person Balisong really wanted to be around. However, money was definitely something they enjoyed, and they would put up with a lot to be able to get the parts for their wheelchair. Lately they hadn't even needed to give any of it over to their parents for bills. It seemed like the budget was in their favor nowadays.

Before Vera left, she had dropped the money for their fries on the table, which meant that Balisong was free to scoop up the change and do with it as they pleased. So that was a perk despite the lack of a task that morning.

They looked up at the television screens here in the little restaurant. The only waiter that was working that day was staring up at the screen as he leaned against the counter, watching the District Four tributes volunteer. If this was a channel with commentary, it was muted, thankfully. Balisong hated hearing what the Capitol had to say about tributes when they were first reaped. It was all so vapid and pointless.

Vera had said when she first sat down that there was some kind of explosion in District One, which had intrigued Balisong. But unfortunately for them and for the curious waiter here, there were no replays of the reaping from One yet. Normally there would already be channels broadcasting recaps with commentary on reactions and demeanors—some even going as far as guessing standings so early on—but now everything seemed to be _strictly_ stuck on District Four, or repeated showings of the average tributes from Two. That only made it more intriguing though. It must have been bad shit if they were keeping it such a secret.

Balisong held a napkin down just below the table and brushed all the little pieces of the broken tablet onto it so that the waiter wouldn't have to clean up the hardware. They dumped it into Vera's empty plate of fries that she had had to snack on while Balisong put on an act for her. They grabbed one of their own fries and stood up, going over to the cash register counter with the money she'd dropped for them.

The waiter didn't notice them over there at first, transfixed on the two people from Four. Balisong looked up at the screen as one of them walked up to the stage, a confident smile on his face as he made his way over to the microphone to announce his name.

Balisong cleared their throat and the waiter jumped into action, hurrying behind the counter. But just as he was taking the ticket and money out of Balisong's hand, he paused and looked down at their legs in confusion.

"But—" He pointed over at the wheelchair still parked at the table that they had been sitting at with Vera.

"I can walk," they said, trying very hard not to let their face sour. Too many people asked too many questions the moment they saw Balisong up out of their chair, as if it was anyone else's business. They already managed to ask so many questions it was suffocating, whether they were walking around confusing people or not. "Can you just take my money?"

Maybe they were being short, but they had to deal with Vera today, were getting stared down right before their eyes, and after they left this place, they'd have to go sit in the square for the reaping.

"Okay, okay," he said, putting the money into the cash register and handing the change back out to Balisong.

They walked back over to their chair, leaving a tip but pocketing the rest of the change. They began to wheel themself out of the restaurant and into the city streets. A lot of people were already milling around, just as early as Balisong was. Any minute now all the shops and restaurants would be shutting down for reaping time and everyone would be finding a place to stand in the square as the District Five reaping was broadcast across the country.

Balisong heard a familiar voice behind them as they wheeled themself to the square early, and they turned around to see Jilian was calling for them to hold up. She jogged up beside them. "Hey!" she said, and like always there was a conflicted moment where it seemed like she wanted to start pushing their chair. It just annoyed Balisong how everyone felt that they were required to somehow, out of charity for the poor kid with the seizure disorder.

"You're here early, Jil," they said. It was unusual for her to get anywhere before the moment she was supposed to be there, even things as important as the reaping. She was usually one of the stragglers that the officials had to check in last, so they never really saw her on the day of the reaping.

"Yeah, well, I got a ride today," she said. "My dad's driving the tributes to the Capitol this year, so I've been walking around since he dropped me off."

"Oh." Balisong nodded.

They didn't know how to react to that, since that must have been an awful, morbid transportation assignment, especially if someone would have to do that every year. They knew that it was the people from Six who brought the tributes to the death match every single year, whether it was in the trains or the hovercrafts, and they had heard stories of some of them who had succumbed to the morphling that ran rampant in Six because of it. That wasn't something very exciting for Jilian's dad to be a part of now. But maybe her dad had spun it in a better light, talking about the pay he would be bringing home because of it. Maybe that was why she didn't seem resigned to her father's job.

"So what are you up to, Bailey?" she asked, looking down at them. "Saw you coming out of Mickey's back there."

"I was checking someone's tablet," they told her. "I couldn't fix it but she paid for my fries."

"So that's a win."

They turned a corner and came into the open space of the square, the tall buildings around it enclosing them like they were trapped in a castle's courtyard. No one was standing in the reaping section yet. Mostly people were milling around waiting for the officials to arrive to start checking people in, which would be any minute now. There were some camera people setting up and Balisong watched as they brought the reaping bowls full of names out to the stage on either side of the microphone in the middle.

"Oh, Bailey, Jil!" someone called, and Porter Becking came over to them.

Jilian's eyes lit up when she saw Porter, and for a split second it seemed like she would shrink in on herself around him, but she kept herself tall. "Hey, Porter," she said, attention on Balisong forgotten very quickly. It was kind of entertaining how quickly she disappeared into a conversation with him. They had watched Porter and Jilian slowly flirt their way into almost-dating for months now, and at this point it was just insufferable seeing how neither of them could tell what the other thought.

"I'm gonna go get checked in," they told the two once they saw an official sitting down at the table to set up for the registration. Jilian and Porter acknowledged them vaguely, so they wheeled themself over to the table, the first one there.

"Balisong Thatcher," they said, and the official nodded, tapping on the tablet in front of them. Balisong reached out and put their finger down on the little device. They hissed with a sharp intake of air when their blood was drawn and took a cotton ball out of the big bowl placed in between the two registration officials.

"Left section, sixteens row," the official said, her voice flat and bored already.

Balisong turned themself in the right direction and pressed the button on the side of their chair to send them forward, moving along slowly. This was one of the things that they'd been working on for a long time now, building a little engine that could propel them forward when they couldn't or didn't want to wheel themself. They pressed the cotton ball against their finger until they were by the sixteens, and then they pressed the button to stop and went to the left side. They held their right index finger in the air, still stinging a little, as they moved into the empty roped-off area. They couldn't use the engine all the time since it was difficult to get the fuel for it, but it helped in small amounts.

The rows started filling up with people. The screens that would soon show the stage for those way in the back were now showing the District Five reaping. On the stage was their scrawny mayor with a quiet rendition of the Treaty of Treason—a tradition that bored Balisong to no end, especially if they were going to have to hear it echo across the square twice.

Balisong focused on the stage of their own district now, watching as the three District Six victors found their seats. Mayor Findley was talking to Lu Ten Li, the victor of the 85th along with Athena Maine, who had been mentoring tributes since she won. Nanette Tye sat next to them, staring off to the side of the stage at nothing in particular. Ever since she came home from the Games and mentored five years of dead tributes, she had never been completely there within any moment, even after both of her tributes came back in the 85th.

Nik Myler joined him in the sixteens section, coming over to stand by them as he saw them there. "Hey," he said with a smile. He was one of Porter's friends, but he had gotten close to Balisong the last year or so. They had known each other before—a lot of people knew Balisong from school or from having things that needed fixing looked at by them—but had just never really talked. Now, Balisong really enjoyed his company. "How's it going, Bailey? You're here early."

"Good," they answered. The more people that filed in, the less they could see the stage from where they were sitting, but the screens would still be in their view to watch what was going on when everyone got there. "I was at Mickey's so I was ahead of time."

"Oh, at Mickey's, huh?" he asked. The restaurant wasn't all that fancy, not compared to some places in Six and especially that he'd seen in movies in the Capitol, but it wasn't like a lot of people could afford to eat out at all. Balisong wouldn't have been able to, not even just for the fries, if it weren't for Vera being there. They had brought some spare change just in case she wasn't paying, but it was supposed to be their dinner money—or parts for the chair money, if Mom and Dad actually had them something prepared at home.

They chatted about home and Nik's new job driving one of the rich engineers around while they waited for more people to get there. Before Balisong knew it, the conversation had lasted them fifteen minutes.

Over all the talking, Balisong could hear crying coming from the speakers hooked up to the screens showing District Five. One of the tributes was sobbing. The sound soon died out as the screen changed over to show the stage in Six live, leaving anyone who wished to see the tributes hanging to watch the recaps later on.

It wasn't long before the Treaty of Treason was being read to them again, this time by their mayor. Her nasally voice went through the entire painful speech, and Balisong looked down at the arm of their chair, tracing patterns on the top of it idly. They wondered if this reaping would ever end. Next year, they would find something to do if they happened to be in the city early so that they weren't in this square for what felt like all day long.

After Mayor Findley finished, she looked over the crowd and said, "I have faith in this year, and I wish the best of luck to the reaped. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Balisong heard the sound of clacking across the stage, and soon Oscar Wintry's voice pierced their ears. "Good afternoon, District Six," he said with vigor. "I am so excited to be here before you on this year, the year of the _Fourth_ Quarter Quell!" Oscar Wintry had mastered the art of breezing past silent pauses, ones that were supposed to arouse excitement. But he was excellent at understanding no one was going to clap for him here, so it was best to brush past that and move on. "I have just as much faith in you as our dear Mayor Findley, and oh, my, I cannot _wait_ to see what you have to offer this year. I hope our Athena Maine and I will be able to bring a victor home this year.

"Let's begin with the boys, why don't we?" Oscar said, and the sound of clacking returned for a second.

Balisong wanted to lean back and nap, but that would probably be incredibly insensitive to the people who were about to be reaped, so instead they just focused on improvements they could make to the engine connected to their chair. They had plans to go to Ty Quentin's house that night so nothing would come of it that day, but they had been thinking about improvements for a while now.

They looked up at the screen to see what Oscar was doing. He opened the slip of paper he'd drawn out of the reaping bowl and read out the name, eyes still down on the slip, "Balisong Thatcher?"

Balisong thought they could physically see the silence in the square, like it was tilting this way and that, designed to make them dizzy. They continued to look up at the screen for a minute, waiting for this to be a joke. When it wasn't, it felt like the world unfolded from its sphere to turn inside out and suffocate them.

"You gotta go, dude," Nik whispered to him, but with no one else in the square speaking, it may as well have been yelling. "I'm so sorry, Bailey."

They wheeled past Porter on the way out. His eyes were down on the ground, refusing to look at Balisong as they made their way to the stage. So many eyes on them, so many pitying eyes that they knew so well.

When they were on the stage, looking out at all of the people who had gladly taken homework answers from them, who had asked them to look at their tablets or televisions or computers, it made sense to them. Everyone pitied Balisong when they didn't ask for it, but not a single one of them would ever actually act on it to volunteer.

* * *

 **so here we are, about halfway through! i'm absolutely jacked to be on the final stretch to capitol chapters!**

 **i got sponsoring set up while i was working on this chapter and i'm thinking about a blog. although every time i open the half-made one on weebly i get really intimidated sjfklsdjfl**

 **but for sponsoring, you can get points for reviews and the chapter questions! also bc my overachiever bff ash wanted it, i'm giving points for fanart and playlists or simply just single song recs! so if you wanna get ahead during the capitol chapters, there are the ways to do that. i'm thinking about something that would make sponsoring points useful before the games even begin so watch out for that whenever i announce it**

 **so let me know if you enjoyed, and chapter question: would you be able to bring yourself to volunteer for someone who was at an obvious disadvantage compared to you? would you if you didn't even know them?**


	15. Rose Petals: District Six

one little rose petal  
fell to the floor  
like the feather of a bird's wing,  
and it pooled outwards like blood.

* * *

 **Judah Tines (15)**

 _ **District Six**_

 **last night**

"How's this look?" Abby called up into the trees above them. Judah looked up at the branches where Cammie was sitting, overseeing what Abby was spreading out across the ground. They saw a face full of consideration up in the sky, hand thoughtfully underneath her chin. After a long pause, Abby threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, come on. Just tell me, Cam."

"Move the big stick to the right a little bit!" Cammie's verdict fell on them like rain, and Abby began directing to Judah to move the branch as Cammie suggested while she went about using the blood red spray paint that had fallen into their possession.

Judah hopped away from the rest of the trees and junk laid out on the ground, trying to get a good perspective on it by standing on their tiptoes at the edge of it. It would look better from a distance, or from the eyes of someone much taller than them. The streetlights were starting to turn on as the world of District Six went dark, and out on the edge of the woods kind of wasn't a great place to be during that, but there were three of them, and they had a _lot_ of sticks.

Abby had gotten this idea about a week ago, and they had just kept putting it off. All of the sudden, both of Judah's friends just got really antsy to start it, though, and Judah was pretty sure it had something to do with the reaping. None of them were ever super conscious of it—it was hard to live your life normally and also be super aware of looming reaping days all the time—but when it got close like this, suddenly things became about hanging out, a little more hugging, a little more connection. Just in case.

The rose built out of sticks and scraps of cardboard, garbage can lids tossed aside, all the twine they could get their hands on—it was actually really turning out nice. Despite their late start on it, they'd been collecting the pieces for it since Abby had the idea. The spray paint had just been a bonus. She had originally intended on just making it out of all the ugly pieces of scrap they were using, saying that was part of the _point_ —the point being some philosophical concept in art that neither Judah nor Cammie could or would even _try_ to grasp. The blood red spray paint had been someone's in town—someone from their school, and he was a huge douche. So they saw it next to his stuff when he wasn't looking and just… darted over. And took it a little bit. So it was maybe slightly stolen, but they were using it for way cooler things than the shitty graffiti Mason would've used it for.

They couldn't get their hands on any green spray paint in the same fortunate manner, so the stem of the rose was how it was originally intended to be: made out of twisting sticks that they did their best to weave together and using as little of the twine as they could, preserving every little bit as it got bigger and bigger. Luckily for them, the sticks were a little damp from rainfall the last few days, so they were easy to twist together. Unlucky for them, though, was the rain that would probably come back soon, and wash away all their hard work.

Abby said the _point_ of it wasn't to show it to other people, but just to make her message come to life. Judah didn't think they understood why there was a message if not for telling other people, but they supposed they understood the concept of _just having fun_ while they were making this really cool thing. _They_ would know how kickass Abby's artistic vision was at least.

Something was bugging them as they looked over the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that the lighting was different, but there was something off. About the petals. They looked over it, moving slowly around the flower.

"What are you doing?" Abby asked, watching as Judah began to go around behind her to look over it from the top.

"I see it too," Cammie said from the tree.

She pointed over to the top of it, where the trash lid was, a bunch of spray painted leaves in it to give it the look of the swirling petals. Yeah, Judah saw it now. They pushed in the trash can lid slightly, further down into the sticks and leaves and scraps of fabric that made up the rest of it. They grabbed a bunch of fabric that was now too tightly squeezed together with the lid further down, wrapping it around the top of the lid. That made the rose a little pudgier than it was tall, giving it a more rounded shape. Judah stood on their tiptoes again to see how that looked, inching back over to the stem.

"That looks way better," Cammie said, slowly climbing down from the tree. "This thing is amazing."

Abby grinned proudly as she stepped back and looked over her work. "I want to draw it."

"You want to draw what you just made?" Judah asked, raising their eyebrows.

Abby nodded. "We don't exactly have a camera to take a picture of it," she said. "And I don't want to forget it."

"Well, I have a solution for that," Cammie said as she dropped to the ground and came over to them. "Let's just kidnap a Capitolite from where they're staying, and then we'll ask them if they have a camera."

"Why wouldn't we just steal their camera? Why do we have to kidnap them?" Abby asked, sitting down in front of their work. The other two set down next to her, eyes roaming over the angled view of the rose that they had from the ground.

"Uhh… because," Cammie answered, rolling her eyes.

Judah looked up at the sky, which was really starting to darken now. Their parents were all probably going to start wondering where they were soon, since they said they'd be home before too late. Judah hadn't intended to stay out here this long. Usually on the night before reaping day, their family stayed together, wanting to spend time together. But they'd made an exception for what Judah had told them was an _incredibly_ important thing they, Abby, and Cammie needed to do.

"We should go," Judah said, looking over at their friends. They didn't want their parents angry at them for getting home too long past dark.

But it was the perfect night for this. It wasn't chilly even as it got dark, and it hadn't been too hot while the sun was right on them. There were no weird noises, only the nighttime sounds of crickets and owls somewhere in the woods. Judah could live forever like this, sitting out by the woods with artwork sprawled across the ground in front of them, and their best friends looking out at the sky.

* * *

 **present day**

Why couldn't they just get a fucking nonbinary bowl? Judah didn't know quite how it would work, what with there still only being two tributes—and by no means was a nonbinary bowl worth an extra tribute going into the arena—but would it hurt them to put their brains together and figure out a way? Instead of lumping them in with the girls?

Judah looked up at the stage like it would have all the answers for them, and it was only after a few moments of this that they realized what had sparked their anger. That the situation sank in for them.

Their name had just been called. Oscar Wintry had just drawn their name out of the girls' bowl, had just sunk his hand into the pool of slips and drawn Judah's out. He'd read it over the crowd, had probably seen thousands of faces finally relax in relief, and then immediately tighten up again in guilt over feeling relieved at the name being pulled. Judah had seen it a million times before; they knew how these things worked.

Now it was their time to walk up on the stage. It was their time to follow the other tribute up there. They'd seen that Balisong Thatcher wheeled up on the ramp on the other side of the stage, opposite to the stairs. For a moment, there was nothing but heartache and pity for the person in a wheelchair, the person who would obviously be much worse off than most of the rest of them, even in such a weak district as Six.

Next they were going to be up there, feel the pity rest like knives in their back, watch as the crowd shifted on their feet, uncomfortable at the sight of two corpses. Judah didn't want to die.

A Peacekeeper began to step into the crowd, looking over the girls' half on the right. Judah felt their eyes begin to get teary, and they reached up and wiped away at it quickly. But holy shit, the Hunger Games. Holy shit, no. They just wanted to drop at the Peacekeeper's feet and beg them no, beg them to do something about this, to keep them from going to the arena.

But they took a deep breath, and stepped out into the aisle.

Out there, with all of the people from Six who didn't know them by name now seeing who had been reaped, it was a different world. It was a world that seemed a lot more real. This whole situation was starting to feel alarmingly less like a dream by the second, and they were fucking terrified of that. They wanted to claw at the split second after they'd come to the realization that the reaping should have a nonbinary bowl, where everything felt fake and ignorable.

They wanted to run away. They glanced behind them, looked out to the street next to the Justice Building. They were fast. They might be able to make it to somewhere to hide at least. But they couldn't stop walking, and they were on the stage before escape was ever really an option.

"Judah Tines, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Oscar Wintry said with a warm smile. He had always been so much, constantly chaotic and rambunctious from what they'd seen of him on TV in previous years, but he'd seemed like a decent guy. Now, after having watched him pull their name out of a bowl of _thousands_ , his voice hurt their ears, grated at them. "Do you go by Jude, by any chance?"

Judah gritted their teeth for just a moment. But even angry, they couldn't bear to be mean to this man. "No. Judah," they said. They'd picked the name out themself. They liked Judah. "Sir," they added as an afterthought, feeling bad about being short, even though their voice didn't sound angry.

"Ah. See, I know a Jude back home, and she's a fighter," he said, pointing his finger at them with a snap of his wrist as he said "fighter." "I think that bodes well for you, Judah Tines."

They nodded a little bit, feeling their lip quiver and taking a big breath to avoid crying again, even though their eyes were still teary and their cheeks were still wet from the crying they'd already done. They had seen the boy from Five crying in the reaping before Six started. They didn't want to put themself at that disadvantage.

"Well, shake hands, my loves," Oscar said, and Judah looked over at Balisong Thatcher as the wheelchair spun in Judah's direction. The two of them shook hands and Oscar looked out at the crowd with bright eyes. "And here are the tributes of District Six for the One Hundredth Annual Hunger Games, Balisong Thatcher and Judah Tines!"

To Oscar Wintry's credit, he didn't falter once at the sight of an average fifteen-year-old kid and a kid in a wheelchair, smiling out at Six like they were looking at two possibilities for this Quell's victor. Judah, though—they knew how this was going to play out. They knew what Six would be facing again.

They watched as Athene Maine stood up and stepped over to the two of them, putting a hand on Judah's back and resting her other hand on Balisong's wheelchair. "I'm so sorry, you two," she whispered quietly, and Judah suddenly felt their chest constrict, closing in on itself. They were going to start crying again, any second now. "I will do all I can for you."

A Peacekeeper separated her from them and led Judah and Balisong to the elevator that would send them to the floor for goodbyes. Judah watched as the Peacekeeper pressed the _2_ button and wondered why they couldn't have just walked up a flight of stairs. Their mind was so spacey, jumping from holding back sobs one second to wondering why the sky was blue and sun was hot the next.

"How old are you?" the Peacekeeper said quietly as they started to ascend. Judah froze for a second, glancing down at Balisong in the wheelchair, before turning back to the person themself. They were still waiting expectantly for an answer from either of them.

"I'm fifteen," they answered, their voice small.

"Sixteen," Balisong said.

"Your hair is blue," the Peacekeeper commented, looking at Balisong. "They'll like that."

Balisong reached up and ran a hand through his curly blue hair. "I guess so," he said with a shrug. "They could just dye anyone's hair."

"But you came with blue hair," he said. "Act a little like them. Play off that."

Balisong paused and then looked down at the floor, ignoring the Peacekeeper's advice. Judah tried to move as little as possible, as if they were in a room with a predator and the only way to avoid them was to not draw any attention to themself. Like the dinosaurs who would only get you if you moved.

The elevator door opened and Judah stepped out of it, looking around the brown hallways. Everything seemed so drab and depressing here.

Just as the Peacekeeper started to motion toward their separate rooms for goodbyes, they paused and their helmet turned to Judah. "And you," they said, voice low and cautious. "Hide. Just hide."

Judah went into the little room feeling on edge from whatever they'd just been told. The Peacekeeper had no reason to be giving out advice, no reason to feel attached to these two reaped kids at all. They glanced back at the door that was now shut behind them for a moment, wondering what person was underneath that helmet, wondering if they were from Two like lots of Peacekeepers were. And if they were, why would they ever bother to care about two unremarkable kids from Six?

 _Hide. Just hide._ That was such a strange thing to say.

The room they were in was just as unremarkable as they were for the Games: a comfortable-looking floral couch with a loveseat across from it, and a coffee table sitting in the middle. A little cooler over in the corner that probably had waters, if it had anything at all. A big window with dark brown curtains, and a white rug over most of the dark wood floor.

Their parents and Lia rushed in, the door opening and closing with a thud as they all crowded around Judah. Mom and Dad were crying, and Lia had her hands over her mouth, just looking at Judah like she was already seeing their dead body. They were so overwhelmed that they had to shut their eyes for a moment, tuning out their family's panic.

"Judah," Mom said. "Judah. Judah."

It was happening outside of this room, they were sure of it, because they couldn't make sense of any of what was happening. Like they couldn't make sense of why they wouldn't have a nonbinary bowl to draw their name out of.

They looked up as the door opened again and her sister's wife, Alicia, came into the room, her lip wobbling and her eyebrows scrunched up in pain. "Oh, Judah. No. Are you okay?"

No, of course they weren't _okay._ "I'm okay," they said quietly, and it could barely be heard over the sound that just flew out of their mom's mouth, a sob so painful and choked and aching that it sent Judah back into panicked mode for another few seconds.

They didn't like all this attention being on them. They felt themself shrinking inward, eyes moving between their crying mother, their sister and sister-in-law clutching at each other tightly, their father looking on with horrified eyes and nothing coming out of his mouth despite the fact that it looked like he had so much to say. Everyone they loved in one room, mourning together.

"Dad," they said quietly, turning toward him and trying to focus only on him, not on the rest of the room. He looked at Judah attentively, nodding for them to continue. They wanted to say something, but like him, they couldn't find the words. So instead they crashed into him, shutting their eyes tightly as they wrapped their arms around him. He slowly put his arms around them, too, and soon the other three were behind them, all five of them wrapped up in a hug that felt as constricting as a coffin.

* * *

 **woot so i wrote the d7 girl before i wrote judah here (who is from _Mystical Pine Forest_ ) so i'm literally gonna just... post the next chapter right after this one so yee & also haw here are 2 back to back chapters for ya**

 **also i wanna note that judah refers to balisong as he not bc i forgot their pronouns but bc they obvs don't know each other's pronouns yet**

 **i don't feel like doing a chapter question for this chapter so yee & also haw and see you in a minute with wilda**


	16. A Simpler Existence: District Seven

one little bird flew high above the rest,  
wings stretched outward, soaring close to the trees.  
one little bird flew high above the rest,  
wings flapping as little as possible, spread as wide as possible.  
one little bird flew high above the rest,  
wings bloodied and broken, protecting those below.

* * *

 **Wilda Aspen (16)**

 _ **District Seven**_

 **two weeks ago**

Wilda swung her axe into the felled tree when her shift was over, looking over the work her group had done that day. She was sweating and tired, and all she really wanted to do now was take a nap, but if she did that, she would sleep until supper. And a wasted day was the last thing she needed.

"Oh, first one done, huh, Aspen?" Aster, the leader of the group, called over to her from where he was standing a distance away. She looked over at him with eyebrows raised in a challenge, and for the shortest of seconds a grin spread across his face, before he shook his head to wipe the slate clean. "As always, I guess. That's why you'll never get a raise."

"Funny. It's almost like you gave me one already," she said back, and the rest of the group rolled their eyes at their behavior. It was always like this between Wilda and Aster: constant fighting, without any animosity ever coming from either end. She pulled the hair tie out of her braid and redid it as she walked over to Aster, letting most of it hang down after braiding a little ways. As long as the long hair was out of her face, she didn't much care what it looked like.

"Watch your tone," he reprimanded once she was next to him. He surveyed what they had done, his eyes roaming over the others as they started to clear up for the next shift to take over. She watched as Bennett pulled out the axe she had lodged in the tree—maybe a dumb idea, but she had wanted to see Aster squirm. "You know, one of these days, I'm really going to follow through and write you up for your behavior, little girl."

She wrinkled up her nose at that nickname, stopping just shy of punching him in the arm for it. She hated it when he talked down to her like that, even though she knew he never meant it. That was exactly why he did it, after all: just to get a rise out of her, and maybe remind her that she wasn't supposed to realize that he thought of her as a little sister. She wasn't little, anyway. She was taller than some of the guys in their group, and nearly as tall as Aster, standing at six feet tall.

"One of these days, I'm going to be graduated from high school and college, and I won't much need a job working under your shitty attitude," she reminded him. If it weren't for her tone, telling him everything he needed to know about how much she would miss her shift group when she was gone, he probably would write her up for her remarks. She was always teetering that line with him, but that was what made it a little bit more fun.

"What are you doing after this, Wilda?" he asked her, slinging an axe carefully over his shoulder and beginning to walk out of the woods as the others started to dissipate.

She shrugged. He didn't ever really ask her about what she was doing after work. Most of their interactions happened out here, in the woods. "I guess I was going to hang out with my friends. Why?" she asked.

"I heard you were real friendly with Leila Ogden," he said, his voice lowered. There was genuine concern in there somewhere, but it was pretty deeply masked. "That's not something you need to be doing."

Her heart stopped in her chest for just a moment. It wasn't that she was ashamed that she liked women, but she had never told anyone before. Hell, she hadn't even really spent that much time with Leila before, so was it really just that obvious?

She had lived close to the Victors' Village since she was born, walking past it on the way to school or to town, and now on the way to work. The big gated community had always intimidated her, and the people inside of it even more so. Before two years ago, there had only been two victors, both from the 90th Games. She was so young when they won that she couldn't remember a time before them, but now four victors inhabited those houses. She walked past Leila when they were both on their way to town a lot. Recently, that had started turning into conversations.

She eventually knew she had to say something. Aster was watching her, waiting for some kind of denial, maybe, so she just said, "Listen, Aster, you can control what I do during work, but what I do outside is none of your business."

"Wilda—"

"What's your problem with Leila Ogden, anyway?" she asked, her voice raising in volume a little bit. What right did he have to say there was some issue spending time with her? He was being a controlling dick if he really thought he could tell her _no_ like she was a child. "She and the other victors are just my neighbors."

"Wilda, will you listen to me?" he said, voice quiet and calm. "She's—"

"No." Wilda shook her head. "No."

She turned around, marching away from Aster. For a moment it seemed like he was going to try catching up to her, but she walked between the people of the next shift arriving so he'd have a harder time of it. When she glanced back, he'd given up.

Out of the woods, the world of District Seven became clear again, away from whatever Aster was talking about. Maybe she was being defensive, but she didn't want anyone knowing about Leila. The two just talked on the way to town, that was all. That was all people needed to see. They didn't need to see how her heart beat faster in her chest when she saw her jogging over to catch up with Wilda. They didn't need to see what Wilda really thought of her.

Rowan and Lindell would be waiting for her at Rowan's house, as they usually were when they wanted to hang out after she got off work, so she picked up her pace to get there sooner. She didn't want to be stuck out here with all of her thoughts.

Rowan's house was just down the street from hers, where he'd been their entire lives. Just a little farther down was Lindell, which was the reason why the three of them had managed to stick together for so long. Ever since they were little, they were the only three their age on the block, so they always played together. And as they got older, their easy access to each other even outside of school kept them from drifting apart.

When she turned the corner and saw the two of them laying on Rowan's front porch, she rolled her eyes and jogged over there. "Hey, assholes," she greeted, watching as Lindell jumped, and then squirmed to turn around and see Wilda standing there. "Why are you lying down?"

"Why aren't you?" Lindell muttered as he pulled himself into a sitting position, his eyes squinting around the block like he was trying to recover his cool-guy ego after dancing like a worm because Wilda snuck up on him.

"Are you high?" she asked, looking between them. They didn't usually bother with getting high, because the only person they knew to sell the weed to them was so hard to get in contact with, but they were acting weird enough that she would believe it. Or Lindell was at least.

"He's not high," Rowan said, pulling himself into a sitting position much smoother than Lindell did. "He's _lamenting._ "

Wilda gave in and walked up the steps, sitting down in front of both of them on the floor of the porch. "Okay, I'll ask. What are you lamenting?"

Lindell shook his head and tossed it to the side, looking dramatically out at the rest of the street with his eyes still squinted. Mrs. Featherforth was kneeling down in her tiny garden, tending to the lilies, and her husband was out on the sidewalk, looking with grouchy old-man eyes at the state of the neighborhood. So rather than looking dramatically cool, it seemed a little like Lindell was just interested in the antics of the two oldest people on the block.

"He's lamenting that Mary Pickett turned him down," Rowan explained to her, eyes just as exhausted as she was but voice full of support for Lindell. "And like a good friend, I'm mourning the loss with him."

Wilda shook her head and turned away from the two of them, although there wasn't much to see besides the Featherforths. Their neighborhood was never all that busy during the day. Everyone there worked constantly, just as much as those in the poorer areas. They were just a little luckier, and had more to show for it all. She hated it when people saw how she lived and assumed that she was a spoiled brat like some of the _really_ rich kids in Seven, not even knowing that she worked her ass off to be a competent lumberjack to put herself through college. It wasn't like her dad, even with his furniture business, could afford what it cost to send her to one of the universities on his own, or the traveling expenses if she was even granted permission to go to one of the districts that had universities.

"Wilda, you almost seem unsympathetic to the cause here," Rowan said, scooting forward and sitting next to her. He leaned over and bumped into her, his eyebrows raised as he prompted her to spill whatever it was that was bothering her.

But the problem there was that she didn't know what it was exactly that was bothering her. She wasn't ready to talk about liking girls yet, but that wasn't all of it. There was something about the way Aster warned her against Leila that made her uncomfortable. That made it almost… make sense. He meant whatever he was going to say. Maybe she should have let him speak his mind, if that wouldn't be letting him win.

"Pardon me if I don't care about your loves lives, boys," she said, loud enough that Lindell could hear it too.

"What's crawled up your ass?" Rowan asked, the concern disappearing to be replaced with irritation.

She looked over at him and shoved him a little bit. "Nothing's 'gotten up my ass,'" she said, mocking his tone of voice. She frowned a little bit. "Why is it that you're upset because a girl won't date you and I have to care, but I'm contemplating shit and I'm a bitch?"

"Maybe because it's possible to contemplate without being a bitch?"

"Fuck you, Row."

She stood up like she was going to head home, ready to storm off in a huff, but then remembered that she left her keys at home that day. That was part of the reason why she had gone to spend time with Rowan and Lindell: she couldn't get back inside the house until her father got home from work _whenever_. Or until the twins got home, if either of them remembered their keys.

Lindell was no longer playing the part of a forlorn man resigned to die alone. He scooted over to the two of them as well, leaning forward with his elbows rested against his crossed legs. She could tell he hadn't moved closer to help the situation, but rather just to see if it turned into a fight between Rowan and Wilda. Or, an argument, really. Both of them knew that she could take them.

"What are you even 'contemplating'?" Rowan asked, crossing his arms in front of him. His face was scrunched up at her slightly.

"Nothing," she mumbled, shaking her head. She sat down on the steps again and pulled some grass up from the ground, letting it fall between her fingers like sand. "Aster just pissed me off. But it's nothing."

"Aster's a prick," Lindell added from behind her.

She turned around on the steps to face them again, feeling bad for snapping over something that they couldn't control. But she didn't really care that Mary Pickett didn't think that Lindell was date-worthy—he had been trying to date her for years to no avail, and his continued pressing just made Wilda feel for Mary.

"Well, he is," Lindell said defensively, taking her looking at him to mean that she wanted him to take that back.

"No, I know that," she said, shaking her head. Of course Aster was a prick, but a prick that she admittedly cared about a whole hell of a lot. "No, he just… said something weird to me."

"What?" Rowan asked, interested now. He leaned forward slightly, like she had juicy gossip for him and not just a weird, mysterious thing that she couldn't even explain in full without telling the two of them that she had fallen for a victor.

"Just that… I shouldn't be talking to Leila," she said. "I don't know, like there's something wrong with her. Or something dangerous about her."

Rowan shrugged. "Maybe it's just because she's killed people," he suggested, although that wasn't helpful at all. All the victors had killed people, but he didn't say to look out for sweet Briar Hale when she walked past the Village, didn't say to ignore Jack Rhinsley when she saw him picking up his kid from the school. And anyway, she didn't like that explanation simply because it reminded her that Leila and Remi Hoult _had_ killed people—something she would prefer not to think about, even if she had seen it happen just two years before.

"I don't think that's it," she told him.

"You know, I hear the Capitol wants her mentoring this year," Lindell said. "And I don't think Briar or Jack are going to challenge it."

She looked at him as she tried to connect those dots, but they didn't make any sense. "Why would they want that? And why wouldn't Jack do anything about it?"

Jack Rhinsley had mentored every single year since he and his district parter won, even last year after Remi Hoult and Leila were brought home. It didn't make sense for him to suddenly make the eighteen-year-old take over the job for him, even with his kid turning six this year. She had heard a couple times before that he didn't want to leave his son to go off to the Games and watch another batch of kids die, but he cared deeply for the two he brought home. It was plain for anyone in the district to see. He would never force Leila to start mentoring so soon, and it would be strange for the Capitol to ask that of him, unless he'd done something stupid.

"I hear it's because Leila's pretty," Lindell said, but it didn't sound so much like gossip now. They all knew what it meant when a victor was brought back to the Capitol's limelight because they were pretty, and it was nothing to cheerfully shoot the shit about. "I think Jack's not saying anything because they're not letting him. They want Leila."

The cogs started turning in her mind and she cocked her head to the side. "Maybe that's what Aster's bothered about."

"Why would he be upset about you being friends with her just because the Capitol may want to use her?" Rowan asked.

But that wasn't why Aster hadn't wanted Wilda around Leila. He hadn't wanted her to be _flirting_ with her, or getting her heart invested in her, in case the rumors were true. In case she ended up being on the arms of Capitolite men in the news, in case she was entangled in the Capitol's business.

She was eighteen now. It made sense.

"Oh." She hopped up from the stairs as she saw Willow over at her doorstep down the street. "My sister's home. You guys can come over if you want now that I can actually get inside."

"That's okay," Rowan said, waving her off. "I was just about to kick you and Lindell out anyway."

"Hey!" Lindell said, but he backed off when Rowan stood up and towered over him playfully. The smallest of all three of them, Lindell was always the brunt of their jokes and punches, but after sixteen long years of life, he had gotten used to his bigger friends—at least ever since Wilda started getting taller than him when she was little.

She remembered the time that someone had been picking on him for being so small when they were younger, so she went over to the person and punched them. Which then got her in deep shit, but on top of that, everyone started to focus their attention on boyish Wilda, gigantic Wilda. That had certainly taught her to stick up for herself, which helped a lot now that she was in the male-dominated lumberjacking world.

She patted Lindell's head and gently punched Rowan's arm as goodbye, and then went over to her house. Willow hadn't locked the door behind her yet, so Wilda slipped in and hung her little sister's keys up on the rack, shutting their front door behind them.

"You're home right on time," Willow said as she saw Wilda come in.

"I forgot my keys. I was just waiting until you or Grover came home. Where is he, by the way?" she asked.

She was pretty sure Willow went over to a friend's house last night, but she wasn't sure. Her days of being able to keep perfect track of the twins was over, which was really hard for her. Even though she was only a year older than them, she had to be a lot older mentally to be able to take care of them while their father was off doing business, and their mother was busy in a grave out in the cemetery. Whenever they asked their father about things, they often didn't run them by Wilda, knowing she was a lot stricter about what they did than their father was. So Grover could be doing something responsible, like working, or he could be partying with his friends and making mistakes—not that it would make a difference to anyone but her.

"I think he's at work. I don't know." Willow shrugged and started to head toward her room. Wilda's chest felt hot with frustration for a moment, and she wanted to yell at her for not saying anything about her whereabouts. For letting Wilda wonder all the time anymore. But yelling was pointless and only started arguments, so she let her sister go and went off to her own room.

She wished everything was simpler. She was tired of being the brunt of all of the universe's jokes. She was tired of having a dead mother and a father who was loving but constantly working, she was tired of raising two siblings who were at the age where they loved her but were no longer grateful for the sacrifices she made, she was tired of working with all the guys on her shift, and she was tired of finally finding someone she clicked with, only to have the fucking Capitol take her away.

* * *

On the reaping day, she got her wish when Nightfall Rizelle called out her name in front of a crowd of thousands and thousands of District Seven citizens. They looked out at the crowd and waited for one Wilda Aspen to turn herself over to a much, much simpler life: a life where the one goal, the one priority, the one important thing was to kill and not be killed in return.

She wanted to shout for the entire crowd to fuck off for being luckier, for their children being luckier, their grandchildren, their nieces and nephews. Every single one of them.

The boy already onstage looked so collected it pissed her off. So collected she took it as a guiding mark for herself. Be that confident. Be that okay with it. She had always been good at controlling her emotions for her siblings, so why not for the whole of Panem?

As she got to the steps, she felt her feet moving forward before she realized she was falling, and only at the last second was she able to put her hands out to keep her head from smacking into the stairs. Wouldn't that have been something? For them to lose a tribute in the reaping?

Her heart was stuck in her throat as she stood up, looking down to see scraped knees. But she couldn't let her stupid, clumsy, gangly legs bruise her pride. Or her sponsor chances.

Leila was in her seat behind Nightfall as Wilda walked onto the stage. Her forehead was creased in a frown, her lips pursed tightly. It was unbecoming. It was anger and sadness that reminded Wilda of a Leila she'd seen on television, not the one that she knew walking to town with her. It was a Leila she had always pushed to the side and intentionally forgotten about, so the moment she turned away from her to face the rest of the crowd, she felt relief for getting away from that person.

"How do you feel, Wilda Aspen?" Nightfall asked once the appropriate amount of time waiting for no volunteers to arrive had passed. Wilda's eyes were scanning the crowd for her siblings, for her father in the back with the rest of those above or below reaping age.

"Well, not so good, since I nearly landed on my ass," she said into the microphone, a small smile on her face. It took all of her energy to fabricate it, but it was worth it for the smile she saw on Nightfall's. That meant she was doing well. That meant she was already pushing herself ahead.

She was so used to adapting quickly, to tossing aside what _she_ felt, that it was almost painful how natural this was.

"I'm very glad you only have a couple of scraped knees to show for it, dearie," Nightfall said with a warbly laugh that shook the golden curls that framed their face. Their elongated canines showed when they spoke, but even more so when their mouth was open to laugh. "My, you are a tall girl, though, aren't you?"

Nightfall was a few inches shorter than Wilda, if she had to guess. She dwarfed the escort like she dwarfed both of the other girl victors on the stage, like she dwarfed many of the people who had teased her when she was younger for being so tall. Now, her size was an advantage. It would almost be satisfying if it weren't such a cruel twist of fate.

The other reaped tribute turned toward her as the reaping came to a close, and they shook hands. He was much shorter than her, having to look up to meet her eyes. She couldn't much look into his, though, with the sunglasses covering them. She realized he was covered in scrapes, on his pale cheeks and one on his Adam's apple. What a pair they were. One having arrived to the reaping beaten up and the other falling on the way to the stage.

 _Welcome to the Fourth Quarter Quell,_ she thought bitterly as the Peacekeepers herded her into the Justice Building. _Enjoy the mess._

* * *

 **i'm gay so i shouldn't be asked to math. basically NOW we're at halfway point (i think idfk sdjfklsdjf) but i thought we were the other day bc i wasn't thinking of d13 but on top of that even if d13 WASN'T in there, it still wouldn't have been halfway bc halfway with only 12 districts is after BOTH d6 tributes. basically i'm dumb gay it's ok**

 **chapter question: would you be able to keep it together if you were reaped? if you could, would it be to the extent that sin is, or to the extent that wilda is, where she's even able to make a joke?**


	17. The Devil Does Care: District Seven

they say the devil is in the details,  
and i think they may be right  
from the way i've ironed it all out before.  
and they say that the devil may care,  
which i am inclined to believe,  
but i think they're a little off.  
the devil probably does care,  
a whole hell of a lot.

* * *

 **Sin Adams (18)**

 _ **District Seven**_

Mia was yelling. She would not stop yelling. But what was really new about that?

Sin was sitting on their front porch, just shy of putting his hands over his ears to hide the sounds of it. He looked over at the trees, the leaves looking like they wanted to flip upside down, and he wondered if it was going to rain soon. It probably would that night, after all the reapings were over. That would probably mess up band practice—not that they couldn't play over the sound of the rain, but they were more likely to sit around in Cole's garage, watching the sky and marveling at their last reaping together.

"Are you even hearing a _word_ I'm saying?" Mia snapped, coming around to the front of him and looking at him with wild, expectant eyes. Now Sin _was_ listening, actually, because she'd gone and picked up her axe. Her fucking axe. The axe that had split and scarred his lip when they were eleven. He recoiled away from it before he could stop himself, and he knew that that would only be used against him. "What, scared of a little axe, Brooksin?"

Sin didn't look at her now, standing up. He wasn't going to take this today. It was his last goddamn reaping day. He wasn't going to sit there and listen to her yell at him, terrify him, when he should just be focused on how terrified he was of his last time standing in the center of that square.

"No, you're not leaving," she said, and he could hear her footsteps slamming down on the path leading out to the sidewalk behind him. "Where are you going, Brooksin?"

Sin finally turned back toward her, standing as tall as he could—which wasn't tall enough to make Mia back down, but it was enough that he felt a little braver about talking back to her. "Mia, I am tired," he said, his voice calm, despite how little he wanted to be there, standing in front of her with her axe, standing in front of her at all. "I am going to Cole's house. Is that an issue?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but thankfully for him she also dropped her axe, tossing it aside in their yard in a way that an axe was not supposed to be tossed around willy-nilly. He glanced over at it, still not caring for whatever reason she had to have empty hands, but at least her hands would no longer be holding a deadly weapon.

"Mom and Dad want you home before the reaping," she said in a taunting voice, like she was about to tattle on him. As if they were twelve again, not eighteen fucking years old. "You're not supposed to go off with your weird friends."

"You sound like a child," he muttered, shaking his head and turning back around. Before he even got a yard away from her, her hands collided with his back, pushing him to the ground so harshly he couldn't even get his hands out to protect himself. He just barely moved his elbow in front of his chest so his face didn't knock straight off the concrete, avoiding a hell of a lot more pain by just seconds. He hissed as he felt the scrapes on his arms, dreading the thought of turning around to stand back up.

"Get up," she snapped at him. "Get up!"

He let out a slow breath through his nose, staring down at the rough concrete, at the little ant sprinting from the patch of grass between blocks to the expanse of their yard, away from where his body had crashed onto the ground. He wanted to shrink down that small and run away from her, or at least make it a quick death if she managed to squish him.

Surely their parents could hear them outside, like they always did, but it never mattered to them. As long as Mia didn't seriously hurt him, any more than she had that time with the axe, it wasn't their business. The scrapes and bruises, black eyes and busted lips, the gasps of pain as he tried to clean his cuts in the bathroom—all of that was between Sin and Mia. And it was never Mia's fault.

He wished he could just send out a signal and his friends would come, swooping him out of this situation. But they didn't even know Mia was his sister, let alone where to come running to if he did manage to send a distress signal across the town.

Finally, he stood back up, pushing himself to his feet and looking at her in the eyes—at least he couldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing the fear in his eyes behind his sunglasses. And at least they hadn't been cracked in that fall. In tilting his head up at the last second on instinct, he had probably saved them from falling down.

"You don't just go prancing around like you own the house," she said, standing over him with a snarl in her lips. He could see, just as always, that she wasn't even really angry. She just looked for excuses to throw tantrums and lash out against him, because she knew she was the favorite, because she thought she was wonderful and gorgeous and undeserving of the concept of sinking down to Sin's level. "You woke _everyone_ up early, you took up the bathroom for, what? Half an hour?"

It had been more like fifteen minutes, which he wanted to snap out to her, but he was still sporting a black eye and other wounds on his face and neck from their last encounter. The last thing he needed was to have both eyes swollen shut, lips busted, nose broken— _whatever_ she would do to him. If he could just appease her and slip away, it would be much better in the long run, even if it was giving up. And giving up, to her, was always just an opportunity to do worse next time.

"Sorry," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. He stepped away from her, just one cautious step back, and she seemed to breathe for a moment, watching him and trying to find fault with this. Trying to find a reason to bring him to the ground again. "I won't do it again, Mia."

She looked over him with confusion, seeing him step away but not doing anything about it. She was used to Sin not necessarily provoking a beating, but never going this far to prevent one.

He turned around after she didn't respond to him, waiting for her to approach once he started walking away. But he made it all the way out to the sidewalk, and when he glanced back over at her, she was just going to pick up her axe and put it back on the porch.

As he walked to Cole's house, he realized how much his elbows stung, and looked down to see his dirty reaping pants. The left leg had a little tear at the knee. He let out a breath. Although he generally only wore these for reapings, they were nice pants. They could've been useful even after this year. He wouldn't even bother with going back and changing them for this year, though. He didn't care, especially not enough to walk back into the fray with Mia.

Lucy and Morrell were there when he got to Cole's—which was weird, to say the least. Normally they were at home before reaping days, as most people were when someone in their family was of reaping age. Of the four of them, only Cole had aged out, and only Sin had a really strained relationship with his home life.

All three of them were sitting out in Cole's garage, Lucy strumming something out on her guitar idly while Cole told them all about something that happened at work, from what Sin picked up coming in late. Morrell was the first to see Sin coming up and they grinned, sitting up straighter and motioning for Sin to come sit down with them. "Hey!" they said. "We didn't think you'd be able to get away."

Sin shrugged after he ducked down underneath the garage door, which was partially pulled down. He slid his sunglasses up to the top of his head since the garage light was so low, pushing some of his feathery white hair out of the way, and plopped down on the seat in front of Morrell's drum set. "Well, you know," he said, never generally in the mood to explain anything about home.

He was pretty sure they thought it was his parents that left him with the black eyes and scratches and scrapes along his face, but they had stopped asking all that much when they realized Sin's answers to their questions would never be anything more than noncommittal. He didn't really care what they thought had happened exactly—he didn't need to _talk_ about it, he just needed to get away from it whenever he could. He needed to get away from the tight constraints of Brooksin, something that he knew made him seem enigmatic, like he just came and went out of people's lives as the breeze blew him through. And he liked coming across like that.

"So what are you two doing here?" he asked Lucy and Morrell. Morrell had leaned closer to their girlfriend after she stopped strumming on her guitar, and Cole was on the floor, leaning against the couch that the other two were stretched out on. "Why aren't you at home?"

Lucy and Morrell shrugged, glancing over at each other. "We spent all last night with our regular families. I guess I just wanted to spend some time with this one," Lucy said. "We didn't intentionally leave you out, though. Neither of us knew the other was going to show up."

That made Sin feel better, although he hadn't even realized he felt a little excluded until she told him that. He just shrugged to show that he hadn't been hurt by it—or at least, whatever degree of him was upset that he'd nearly been left out was so little he hadn't even noticed it at first. "No Fen?" he asked Morrell. Fen was Morrell's other partner, another girl from their woodcutting shift group.

Morrell shook their head. "No, I'll see her at the reaping," they said.

Sin stood up and went over to where his bass was on the wall, grabbing it and coming back to sit down at Morrell's drum set. He ran his fingers over the strings and listened to Cole's story about how Henrietta from the shift before theirs was being a jerk to him after the rest of them had already left. Henrietta from the shift before theirs—which was practically her full name in their conversations about her— _was_ always spectacularly shitty to Cole for some _unknown_ reason. Really, it was only unknown to Cole, who had never quite figured out that dating her sister, even if the breakup had been civil, had made Henrietta from the shift before theirs angry.

"We still doing band practice tonight?" Lucy asked, playfully shoving Morrell out of her way and getting her guitar out again after Cole's story was over. "My parents want me to have dinner at home after my last reaping, but I can be here afterwards."

"My parents want me to be home, but I'm just coming straight back here after," Sin said, nodding to her. He looked over at Cole. "I mean, if that's okay with you."

Cole nodded and opened his arms out to his whole garage—or his whole house. "My door is always opened to you, buddy," he told him sincerely.

Sin's lips quirked in a quickly-stifled half-smile, looking down at the garage floor with a nod of his head. He loved these three so much it hurt, and maybe it would be less of a dull ache in his chest if it weren't for the fact that they were all he had sometimes.

He ran a hand over the scar on his lip for a moment, a constant goddamn reminder of Brooksin, even now, but it didn't matter so much. Or it wouldn't matter so much in a few months, when he managed to get himself out in the world on his own. Or maybe he'd stay with Cole for a while, he didn't know. He felt a little bad taking advantage of his hospitality like that, considering it wouldn't be the first time Sin was temporarily homeless and hiding away at one of his best friends' places.

"I'm good for practice tonight too," Morrell added.

"So we're on," Cole said, suddenly excited and standing up. "I had an idea for a song last night and I wanna hear what it sounds like with the rest of you."

"If Lucy doesn't fuck up her part like she did last time," Sin jokingly added. Lucy set her guitar down and stood up, which made him laugh and scramble to get out of his seat. "Hey, just ignore that."

Lucy tilted her head to the side, a grin on her face. "No, what'd you say, Adams?" she asked, approaching him.

He shook his head, putting his sunglasses back over his eyes and darting outside underneath the garage door, but Lucy was close behind. He ran out through Cole's yard, glancing back at Lucy coming up behind him and laughing almost hysterically as he tried to dart away from her before she could come scoop him up.

"No!" he screeched as he got himself around behind a tree and poked his head out to look at her still rapidly approaching him. "I take it back, I take it back!"

He danced around the tree with her leaning from one side to the next, ready to take off after him in whichever direction he tried to escape. He leaned his head against the bark once he knew he was trapped, the tops of his sunglasses bumping against it, and laughed as he felt himself swooped off the ground, held horizontally and flopping against her hold. His sunglasses were shaken off his face and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Ah! Lucy, don't step on my shades," he begged, still laughing and squinting down at the ground to see that they'd already run past them, but she was turning around to go back and pick them up.

"Only because I'm nice," she said, putting them in his free hand that was dangling down instead of being squeezed against her. He slipped them back on his face and held a hand against them to keep them on as she brought him back into the garage, still hanging down at her side in her triumphant possession.

He lifted his head up enough to look at Morrell and Cole, also taking his hand off of his sunglasses to wave at them. "Hey, guys," he said, defeatedly, although he realized that the smile on his face was huge. He let out a breath and the smile deflated, but his friends would undoubtedly know that his mood hadn't gone with it. "She got me."

Cole couldn't stop laughing enough to get out what he was saying, but after a moment of trying, he wheezed, "Lucy… Lucy, put the— put the poor boy down."

She raised her eyebrows at him, pointing at him with her free arm. "You want me to get you, too, my friend?" she asked, and the tone of her voice wasn't even threatening at all. Morrell leaned his face against the couch, cackling into the fabric, and Cole shook his head, unable to stop giggling despite his hands put out in front of him defensively. "That's what I thought."

Lucy lowered Sin down onto the ground gently, and as he was lying on the cold concrete garage floor, he said up to the other three, "I guess you could call that a pretty good pick-me-up."

All three of them glared down at him. Lucy had only barely sat down and already it looked like she was about to lunge back at him, swooping him up in her strong arms again.

"Another pun out of your mouth and I'm tossing you in the trash, Sin," she warned him, and he was sure she meant it—she would get back at him when he was least expecting it, though.

"You act like puns are crimes _pun_ ishable by death. Or at least _pun_ ches to _pun_ rove how _pun_ -uny I am in con _pun_ rison," he said, and for a blissful moment he looked up at the garage ceiling, waiting for the groans and death threats to pour in from his three best friends.

"Can you at least say that in English?" Morrell asked, sounding a little bit like he would rather receive the death punishment that Sin deserved than listen to any more of his bullshit. "Please?"

"You know. Punches to prove how puny I am in comparison," he translated. "Come on, don't you speak the language?"

All three of them sighed at once, and Sin smirked from where he'd been tossed down on the floor.

* * *

The Justice Building was freezing cold. Sin hadn't stopped to think about a single thing since he'd been reaped, but now that he was alone, waiting for someone to come in for goodbyes, he realized that he was shivering. And summer was coming. Maybe it was because the weather was a little shitty that day. But the windows were closed.

He ran his hands up and down his arms and thought about band practice that night. Now they really wouldn't be playing anything to the rain. He thought about if it had been Morrell or Lucy. He knew the only place he'd want to be in that situation was Cole's garage, with the rest of the people who loved either of them. He wondered if their work group would go over there. He was sure that they'd come for Lucy or Morrell.

He didn't know why he was making himself think of it as Lucy or Morrell. That was worse. That was so much worse. He didn't want to die, or leave them, or leave everything that he was about to have in Seven away from his family, but more than that, he didn't want to watch his friends leave. He didn't want to watch them on the television, in the arena, killing or being killed or both. It was better this way.

Cole was the first to surge in, but Lucy and Morrell were only seconds behind. Sin hadn't sat down yet, so they just collided into him in a hug. He shut his eyes tightly, having no energy to move his arms and hug them back, but it felt good to at least have them close like this.

When they pulled away from him, Cole's arms stayed on his shoulders and he bent his knees enough to look Sin in the eyes—or, well, in the sunglasses—while his head was bent down. "You can do this," he breathed out, but maybe that had more to do with optimism than having any actual proof. Sure, Sin wasn't the weakest tribute, he was sure, but hell, he already had seen a bit of his competition with the other girl who was reaped. Since district partners weren't working together this year, he wouldn't be able to win with Wilda Aspen, and she was obviously as strong as Lucy, and even taller than her.

"Maybe," he said. He hadn't been able to turn off his demeanor since he was on the stage, trying to keep it cool. If Mia and his parents were to come in to say goodbye to him, they wouldn't hesitate to point out how he was already a goner if he cried up on the stage.

At least she wouldn't be able to get back at him for not giving her a fight that morning.

"Oh, _fuck,_ Sin, don't you say maybe," Morrell snapped, with anger in their eyes. They seemed genuinely pissed at Sin and he just shook his head, pursing his lips together in indifference, although that was about as far from what he was feeling as he could possibly convey. But Morrell's eyes were full of tears, and now they were taking Cole's place, standing in front of Sin. "We can't lose our best bassist. Not if we're going to make it big." Now their voice was a lot calmer, and maybe the original comment had just been misplaced anger. It made a difference, but everything was making Sin feel a little raw right then.

Maybe he could make it home. Being a victor would give them a better shot at being able to travel around with their band. It would certainly help with expenses.

Yeah, maybe.

* * *

 **i am going to let my hubris get the better of me and not proofread this chapter bc i just want to publish it asap but if i go back and read it later i'll fix whatever mistakes i left behind**

 **so there we go here is mr sinny boy from _Little Knight Mik_! let me know if you enjoyed and here's the question: so now we're over halfway through, can you try and predict some of the partnerships i've planned? we've only met the full duo for 3 out of the 13 pairings but i'm still interested to see if there's any partnerships you guys would be interested in seeing/think might happen!**

 **also yeah i know that sin was in wilda's chapter question even tho we hadn't met him yet i am a Fool ignore Me**


	18. Against the World: District Eight

push back against the pain  
until your back gives out  
and your ankles sing with pain  
and your arms are weak and sore  
and your legs are jelly  
and push further, against the world,  
until you can't quite feel anything at all

* * *

 **Kubya Kaczka (16)**

 _ **District Eight**_

"I'm going to kick the president's ass," Kubya said gleefully, leaning forward at the table he and Jackson were sitting at. The bakery on the morning of reaping day was absolutely dead, but it didn't really matter. Kubya's boss had tossed him the keys that morning and said to lock up when he went off to the square, and had let himself have most of the day off to spend time with his family—he had two reaping age children. He took a little drink out of the bottle of wine they'd found in the back, and then he launched himself to his feet, in the seat, and stood up on the table. He gestured grandly around at the empty bakery floor. "I am going to kick President Luna's ass, oh yes!"

Jackson reached out as if his hands could break Kubya's fall entirely if he should slip suddenly. "Babe, please get down from there," he pleaded, although Kubya could see a flicker of amusement hidden behind the concern in his boyfriend's eyes. He grinned at the sight of it, always happy to see that he was making Jackson happy. "You have had way too much wine."

"Me?" he said, laughing and shaking his head as he hopped back down onto the seat, and then slid down into a sitting position. "No, no, no. _You_ have had more wine than me, Mr. Codovo."

Jackson let out a breath, leaning his head back against the booth's cushions and looking down his nose at Kubya. His eyes were so full of fondness, Kubya's head spun with it—or maybe that was just because he was tipsy. He rested his elbow on the table and leaned his chin into his hand, looking at Jackson like he'd look at a really pretty, gentle orange sunset. Like the kind that puts pink streaks in the blue sky when it first starts, that colors the clouds so they really look like candy or fluffy dresses like the Capitolites wear. The best kinds of sunsets were never as good as spending the morning with Jackson, alone in the bakery.

"What time do you want to get to the bus?" Kubya asked finally. The idea of showing up to the reaping just shy of drunk made him grin, but he wiped the face away quickly. Maybe the reaping wasn't something he should smile about necessarily.

Jackson shrugged and stood up, grabbing the wine bottle and going toward the back of the bakery, where Kubya baked the breaded when he was working. There were some loaves that were probably going to be tossed in the back, ones he'd made yesterday but that no one had eaten. Normally his boss tossed them out back in the extra trash can. He knew that a lot of the poor people of Eight checked trash out back of places like theirs, so he never tossed the bread with the rest of the trash.

Kubya's boss got sick and tired of him for a lot of reasons, but Mr. Enna never failed to miss an opportunity to teach lessons, and he always said they'd be ridiculous to call themselves a Jewish bakery and then toss their food away where those of lower circumstances couldn't partake. Sometimes they would give away their unused food, too, but their bread bin out back rarely was occupied for long, and Kubya had seen Mr. Enna's satisfied face when he saw someone had taken their leftovers. It was that face that made Kubya respect the man, even when he was being an absolute dickhead.

"Is Mr. Enna not going to notice the wine that's gone?" Jackson asked as he grabbed a loaf and tore a chunk off of it.

"He didn't notice the last one I took a couple weeks ago," Kubya said. Or he had, and he just hadn't cared. Obviously Kubya didn't do anything stupid when he took it, and he was pretty sure that one of Mr. Enna's rules in life was anything goes, as long as no trouble is caused. "So glug glug."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Let's start heading to the bus," he said, tearing off another big chunk of bread for the walk over there. "And _leave_ the wine, Kubya."

They walked out of the bakery together, splitting the bread that Jackson had grabbed as they went to the bus stop. The wind made it kind of chilly out there, so the two of them walked shoulder to shoulder, bumping into each other occasionally but sharing a little bit of warmth. The clouds were gray and heavy, looking ready to burst and drop all of the water in them at once. He kind of hoped that it would rain. It was always a kick in the ass to the escort and other Capitolites there when they got all dressed up for the reaping, and their poor wigs sagged as they got wet, or their gross makeup dripped down from their grotesque faces.

"Oh, shit," Kubya said, slamming his hand into his face. He could feel Jackson's eyes on him as he stopped walking, and he peaked out from between his fingers to see the concern in his eyes. He smiled at him sheepishly. "Forgot to lock up."

Jackson blinked at him, let out an amused sigh, and turned around. Kubya started jogging ahead to the bakery, and when he looked back, he could see his boyfriend had found a spot on the sidewalk to sit and wait for him. He went ahead and looked around, making sure they had put everything up the way it was when they walked in that morning before shutting the door again and locking it from the outside. He threw the lanyard back around his neck, the keys jangling as he jogged back to Jackson.

"All done," he said, reaching out for his hand.

They had to book it to the bus now. It would leave soon, and if they missed it, their only shot of making it to the reaping on time would be the train that always picked up stragglers and took them to the square. But it was a lot more expensive for one of those last-minute rides on the trains than it was for a bus to get them to the edge of the city in time for them to walk to the square.

They made it just barely in time, the last couple of people herding onto the bus just as Jackson and Kubya came up. The bus driver looked tempted to shut the doors on them, two teenagers who were obviously a little tipsy from the way they were laughing at their near-misfortunate and jostling into each other, but no one was so cruel as to make anyone miss the reaping day, with the harsh consequences that came from that. They got on, Kubya dangling the money for the bus ride over the driver's hand for a second, before letting it drop and going to the back where there were still two spots left open. This bus driver was obviously an asshole, because he started to take off before they were even fully in their seats. Kubya nearly fell on the floor as he tried to sit down next to Jackson, and he glared at a couple of the people who snickered.

"You're going to get your ass kicked one day," Jackson said, smiling and leaning against him, his arm around Kubya's shoulders. Kubya leaned his weight into his boyfriend's as well, shrugging just enough that Jackson would be able to feel the motion against him. "I mean, I'll be getting my ass kicked right along with you."

"Aww, thanks, babe," he said, bumping his elbow into him.

He looked out into the aisle between seats in the bus, looking at all of the people headed to the same place. The reaping days were always kind of weird, seeing all these people in this district he didn't know. Like being reminded that there was a world outside of the bakery, Jackson's house, his grandma's house, and the school. That there were people whose routines weren't just get in fights with him, whose lives were so similar to him, being from the same district, and so connected at the same time. It was just perspective—even more perspective than going to the place where two people went off to die already was.

He ran his tongue over part of his lip, absentmindedly about to bite it as he remembered their names in the reaping bowls, and hissed when his teeth connected with the busted part. "Ouch," he exhaled, bringing a hand up to his face to gently touch the area where he'd been punched when he got in a fight with Suzie Kastonec the other day. She'd been saying Jackson was a dumb shit—who knew why, she found reasons to be annoyed with everybody—and Kubya hadn't put up with that shit at all. She was taller than him and worked at a factory, so she was more than capable of beating him up, but he had something on his side that she didn't: he really liked Jackson, and hearing him insulted _really_ pissed him off.

"See, that's what I'm saying," Jackson told him when he looked over and saw him gently running a finger over the fat lip. "You got lucky there."

"No, _she_ got lucky I'm not a total dickhead," he pointed out. Yeah, he wasn't likely to ever turn down a fight he got into, but he also wasn't an animal. The only person he would totally beat up was the president. Or really any of those high-up Capitolites. If Kubya ever went to the Capitol, he'd find a way to deck her.

Or maybe he wouldn't, since that was likely to land him in prison, but if she ever happened to start a fight with him, he'd deck the president. He'd kick her ass.

The bus ride into the city was always subdued and quiet, no one really in the mood to talk much when they were on the way to something like the reaping, so Kubya let his mind wander. It was fuzzy and hard to focus on many things when he felt a little bit like his thought process was spinning on a merry-go-round. At one point, for about five minutes, he was pretty sure he fell asleep with his head against Jackson, and when he woke up he started thinking about how he hoped his grandma made it to the reaping. There was no reason she wouldn't, but normally he didn't go off with Jackson beforehand. The two of them usually came in together, but this year he'd had breakfast with her and she said he could go off to see Jackson beforehand.

The bus eventually made it to its next stop. Kubya and Jackson hopped off, holding hands as they walked past the apartment buildings on this side of the city. They'd passed the factory where most of these people worked on the way there. A lot of them were pouring out of it, heading toward their houses to stop in and get changed before the reaping. Kubya was eternally glad that he didn't have to do anything like that. His version of working before the reaping was fucking around in the bakery, stealing a bit of Mr. Enna's wine stash.

They had the absolute _pleasure_ of running into Suzie on the way up there, and for a moment Jackson considered ducking behind the buildings to just avoid the confrontation. But Kubya said, "Nah," and kept walking forward, holding his head up high. His boyfriend tugged on his arm, laughing and urging him to hide away from her so he didn't show up to the reaping with a black eye or a tooth knocked out this time, but Kubya shook his head and tugged back on Jackson's hand. "No, let it happen!" he said. "Let it happen."

Jackson shook his head. It was a wonder he never got annoyed with Kubya's bullshit, but he'd learned in their more than a year of dating that secretly, he was just as confrontational as Kubya was. He just never wanted to show it, not wanting to come off that way to other people.

Suzie did come over, catching up to them since they'd stopped on the side of the street to pull at each other, and she sneered at them as they walked past. Her nose was turned up at them, which nearly brought Kubya to having another go with her. But then Jackson's voice inside his head reminded him that he was a little tipsy, probably wasn't making smart decisions about what fights he should get into, and losing all of his strength on punching Suzie again wouldn't do anything to help him knock the president out.

Jackson kissed his cheek and the two of them walked down the sidewalk, soon coming into the huge bricked square. There was a fountain in the middle, which he was sure made it prettier than the squares he'd seen in reaping recaps in other districts. Except, well, it was cracked and didn't have water anymore, except for rainwater that sat down at the bottom of the pool and collected trash and grime. He wrinkled up his nose as he passed it to get in line for registration. As he did, he saw his grandma on the other side of it, walking over to a spot to stand outside of the kids' area, and he waved at her. She nodded back to him grimly and he reminded himself to reign in his drunk thoughts a little bit. She'd be upset if she knew that was what he and Jackson had gone off to do that morning.

"This sucks," Jackson said quietly, as they waited in line, Jackson just barely behind him since they couldn't stand side-to-side. Kubya nodded in agreement, but there was no reason to talk about it. It was nothing but upsetting to discuss exactly how shitty reaping days were, especially when it came to this eye-opening moment with everyone around him. Kids who went to other schools than they did, kids who didn't go to school, those younger and older than him—all of them sitting in the same two bowls together, all of them under the same cloudy sky together, all of them _terrified._ It was enough to sober him a little bit.

When he reached the official registering them, Kubya put on a smile and said, "Morning, my friend."

The official looked up at him for a second, confused at the attempt at conversation. "Name," she said, looking down at the tablet.

"Kubya Kaczka," he told her. "Who are you?"

She paused again, her finger hovering over the O's. "This isn't funny, kid," she said, shaking her head and watching as the names shot down to the O's, looking for Kubya among the list. She tapped on his name and said, "Finger."

He put his finger on the little device, tensing up as he waited for the sting, and then shook his hand out when it was over. He pressed a cotton ball against it to soak up the blood, drawing it out of the jar like it was the name of someone being reaped. "Well, excuse me for being polite," he said to her, his voice still just as pleasant. He turned away, taking a few steps off to the side, and waited for Jackson to go through the same process.

Jackson came over to him and bumped their shoulders together. "Not everyone knows you're just trying to make the most of things, babe," he reminded Kubya, but he already knew that. Still, it didn't hurt to try to lighten someone's mood, even if only slightly. It was such a depressing day, between the beginning of the death match of the year and the way rain hung over them, a threat in the sky.

"I get it," he said as they walked down the aisle, turning into the boys' section and finding a spot with their age group.

Suzie Kastonec sent him a glare as she went over into the girls' section, but he was just satisfied that they'd gotten through the line before she did, even though she was there first.

Holland Yorke took the stage, tapping on the microphone even though not everyone was registered just yet. "We're running a little bit behind today!" she called out. "And I'm sure everyone would like to get this going before the rain starts. So we'll begin with the Treaty of Treason while everyone finishes getting in places, if we could have your attention."

Holland, with her bedazzled pantsuit looking just as formal and not _quite_ over-the-top as always, stepped aside for the mayor to take her place, the smile dropping from her face as she looked around to make sure that people were picking up the pace in light of her announcement. She had never been one to wear anything too spectacular like some escorts, but her face was painted up just as much any of the others, and Kubya wondered if his image of the makeup streaming down her overdone face would end up coming true.

The mayor read the Treaty quickly, glancing up at the sky occasionally. Kubya felt a little raindrop land on his nose, and he scrunched it up, looking over at Jackson. "Did you feel that?" he asked.

Jackson shook his head, looking over at him. "Rain?" he whispered.

Kubya nodded, and they turned their attention forward again as Holland stood back at the microphone. "This year is quite spectacular," she said, her voice very official. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she smiled regally out to the crowd. Kubya wondered if Holland expected all of them to bow down before her, to feel _honored_ for being reaped at her hand. Well, bullshit. If Kubya got reaped, he'd flip her off.

Holland ended up drawing some poor Nora Windsor, and Jackson reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tight as they watched her walk up to the stage. Kubya turned away and looked down at Jackson's shirt, at the fabric covering his arms, trying to avoid listening to the escort babbling on while someone stood up on that stage with her, someone monumentally fucked now. Someone whose entire life just went down the drain.

"I love you," he whispered, leaning toward him and keeping his voice so no one else could hear it but Jackson.

Jackson turned his head to look at him and let out a breath. "Love you too."

"Jackson Codovo," Holland said behind Kubya, and he watched every excruciating second of Jackson's face falling.

"No," he whispered, wrapping Jackson's hand up in both of his own.

"No," Jackson whispered back, shaking his head. His eyes were glued up on the stage, where he was expected to go. He inhaled sharply and jerked his hand out of Kubya's grasp, moving quickly between all of the other kids. Out of Kubya's grasp. He tried to shove past them, but nearly stumbled, and by the time he was righted, Jackson was already out in the aisle.

Kubya watched him approach the stage, climbing up the steps. He choked out something like a sob, his shoulders hunching inward, and the words tumbled out his mouth. "No!" he shouted, pushing through the other guys. He moved one out of the way, hands in front of him to keep anyone from getting in his way. "No, fuck you! Bring him back!"

Peacekeepers were starting to come toward him now, and he shook his head, over and over again as they got near him. He pointed at one, his eyes wild and everything seeming to shake around him, like they were in the middle of an earthquake. "I volunteer," he told them, blurting it out. He wanted them away, and he wanted Jackson down off the stage. They paused for a moment, before one of them grabbed his arm and turned toward the stage. He frowned and tugged it away, stumbling toward the stage and shouting, "I volunteer!" as he crashed to the ground.

* * *

His grandma and his cousin May were the first two into the goodbye room. Grandma came over to him and put her hands on his face, looking up at him with tears on her cheeks. "My sweet boy," she said softly, "why do you insist on being a fighter?"

He took a shaky breath and shrugged a little bit, smiling down at her. "I don't know," he told her. He wrapped her up in a hug and looked up at May as he did so. She was standing there on wobbly legs, watching the two of them like the floor was about to fall out from underneath her any minute now. He stepped away from Grandma and opened his arms up, letting May run into them and hug him tightly. He shut his eyes, and he wanted to wish to be anywhere else, but there was no use in that. He wouldn't save his own life for Jackson ever. He wouldn't if he had to go through a million Games for him. "Is Jackson out there?"

Grandma nodded. "He sent his brother to get your star from home," she told him.

His star. The wooden Star of David that Jackson had given him on their first anniversary. It was little and he could easily keep it as a token. Of course. The bus ride back home was a little more than twenty minutes, so if he booked it as soon as the reaping let out, he'd probably make it back before Kubya had to leave. It was fitting. He wanted to die with it, if he had to.

His grandma spent most of her time holding back the tears, sitting down on the couch with him and looking down at his hand in hers. May was on the other side of her, crying her eyes out, and Kubya just numbly waited for all of this to be over. He wanted his goodbyes, of course he did, but… He was so tired. It would be so much easier when this was over. The Games would be easy in comparison to saying goodbye.

When Jackson arrived, they collided into each other, a pair leaning against each other, intertwined. And Jackson did his fair share of reprimanding and snapping at Kubya for what he did, but they only had forty minutes after his grandma left the room. Only forty minutes to fit a lifetime into.

In the last five minutes, Jackson's brother rushed in with the Star of David clutched in his hands.

"I'm so sorry, Kubya," he said, and guiltily he left the room, hanging his head low. Probably feeling bad that Kubya had volunteered for his brother when he wouldn't, but it was pointless. He hadn't even realized what was happening as he moved forward at the time.

They spent the last three minutes at the end of the world grasping the Star of David together, foreheads resting against each other, and when the Peacekeepers came for him, he was too exhausted to put up a fight.

* * *

 **keeping up this bad habit of not proofreading or editing the chapter but inevitably i'll end up reading it later and fixing any big mistakes so it's Fine it's fine ok**

 **kubya is another legend meme man but he's sad here :( but the meme man will come out in him do not worry he will not always be sad times. he's from my buddy knave**

 **this feels rushed? feels a little rushed. but pls my friends it's m s. i made Mistakes when i decided to give all of these tributes their own intro chapter. i am so tired let me sprint toward capitol chapters.**

 **chapter question: based on the first half of the chapter in which part of kubya's true Mini Meme Man comes out. which of the previous tributes do you think he and/or carlo (Big Meme Man) could annoy the shit out of the most?**


	19. Homo Sapien: District Eight

it's easy to be a homo sapien:  
wear your skin outside your bones,  
let your blood flow through your veins,  
walk in an upright position.  
is it so easy to be a human being?  
with a heart to keep a hold of,  
keep it imprisoned in your chest as it attempts escape,  
breathe in the air around you, as if the words it carries  
are not poisoned by pain—  
is this such a manageable task?

* * *

 **Patch Windsor (16)**

 _ **District Eight**_

 **yesterday**

Patch woke up to Ada nudging the foot of their bed over and over again. They turned away from the window, putting a hand against their face to shield their eyes from the sun coming in to blind them. They looked down where Ada was, still bumping against their bed. As soon as she saw that Patch's eyes were open and they were moving, she started saying, "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," until Patch groaned and flipped over, burying their face in the pillow.

Patch knew exactly why Ada was so eager to get out of there that morning. They were going to hang out with Taffeta and Challis before later when Challis had to go to work, and they knew that Ada would want to spend as much time there as possible. Lately, she'd been talking a _lot_ about Taffeta—which Patch was accustomed to, ever since she'd started having her crush, but a couple of weeks ago, it had gotten worse. The four of them had been talking about Challis's girlfriend, and that had brought up a conversation about the kind of people they all wanted to date, the kind of person who would be as perfect for each of them as Challis and his girlfriend were for each other. And Taffeta's _had_ sounded a little suspiciously like Ada, which she had talked about and overthought to death.

"Ada, can you… can you just give me five more minutes?" they whined, tugging on the blanket to pull it up over their head. They were so tired from staying up late talking to her that if they pulled themself out of bed now, they were just going to collapse on the spot.

Ada shook her head, plopping down on the end of the bed and poking Patch's leg through the blanket. "No, they'll be waiting for us," she insisted. "Challis said he was heading over to Taffeta's when he woke up. It's, like, mid-morning. He's definitely there already."

They lifted their face from the pillow and blinked at Ada, who just smiled sweetly back at her. Patch sighed and sat up, feeling like a zombie. But they had heard Ada talk about how much she liked Taffeta so many times now, they understood how important this was to her.

"If you're dragging me out of bed, you'd better be making some kind of move," Patch said, mostly joking. But part of them hoped that she would—not because she was annoyed by the crush, because actually they didn't mind listening to her talking about Taffeta. They thought that the two would be good for each other, but Ada hadn't been able to do anything about it yet. She had always been too nervous every time an opportunity presented itself.

Patch went to grab something out of their drawers to get dressed. Ada told them it was kind of chilly out, so they got a button-up and jeans, and went into the bathroom to get ready to go. Ada had obviously already been in there. Her toothbrush wasn't where she'd left it last night, so she must have already put it in her bag. She really was ready to go as quickly as they could.

They sat down on the edge of the bath after they were dressed, staring up at the mirror. From where they were sitting, they couldn't see themself, only the area above their head reflected back in their direction. They were looking forward to all four of them being able to hang out, but it was also the day before the reaping. But they couldn't worry about that if they didn't want to be miserable the entire day. Still, it hung over their head.

They sighed and hopped off the tub after tossing their pajamas into the laundry basket. They brushed their teeth with one hand, pushing their hair out of their face with the other. They didn't think they'd wear their pronoun necklace that day. Not everybody knew what it meant when they weren't wearing their necklace, but generally their family and friends got that that meant to just stick with "they" for the day. It didn't really matter if people who didn't know them wouldn't understand—if they didn't already know Patch, they wouldn't get that pink meant "she" for the day and blue meant "he," so there wasn't a point fussing over the ambiguity of not wearing it.

When they left the bathroom, Ada was right there waiting for her. Patch shook their head, smiling at the excitement on her face. She really must have intended to make a move that day, if she was this antsy. She was bouncing on her feet, practically, and grabbed Patch's hand, pulling them through the house. Their parents were at work already, so they could run around without being questioned.

It was a really gloomy day outside, but it didn't look like it was going to rain. Patch hoped it wouldn't, anyway. The four of them didn't have the money to do something really special, but they could just romp around like they were young again, and probably end up back at Patch's before their parents got home when they were tired of that.

They walked through the streets to Taffeta's, Ada rambling about what she'd do if Taffeta said yes, and asking probably a hundred times if Patch was sure that this was the right time, that Taffeta would say yes, that it wouldn't be awkward if they split off from Challis and Patch as long as Ada organized it smoothly. Patch was definitely going to help send the two off on their own as best they could, but if they pushed at it too hard, Taffeta was sure to suspect that something was up.

They were the one to knock on her door, and she opened it with a wide smile on her face. She called back into the house, "Challis, let's go!" and grabbed her key from where it must have been hanging up beside the door. Challis came up behind her and they were off.

* * *

They ended up walking clear to the other end of town, the upper end of town. It was must less crowded with buildings here. In Patch's neighborhood near the factories, everything was apartment buildings and houses, roads and sidewalks, and the occasional patch of grass with a tree in it. It was like a concrete wasteland there, but here everything was grassy, like a park. Especially over by the gates by the Victors' Village, the most luxurious neighborhood in District Eight. Patch glanced back at it. The rows of empty houses were nothing but inviting externally, but it was such a quiet, sad area. It had always creeped Patch out a little bit, but this was usually where they ended up if they were walking for a long time. It was much less depressing than seeing the poor huddled against the blocky buildings on their end of town.

"Oh, Challis, I wanted to ask you a question," Patch said a minute after they'd sat down, once their conversation about what they were going to be taking next year lulled to a close. He turned to them with his eyebrows raised, prompting them to ask their question, and they opened their mouth. "Uhh… Actually, can we talk privately?"

Oh, they were not pulling this at all. Ada's cheeks were beet red. But somehow, Taffeta still hadn't noticed a thing.

"Oh, sure," Challis said, frowning at them. He stood up and Patch led him over to the shade of a tree, glancing at Ada and Taffeta. Ada's face was bright red as they started to talk together, but Patch was pulled out of their eavesdropping when Challis, still uninformed, asked, "So, what's up?"

Patch looked at them, eyebrows raised slightly, and shook their head. "Oh, no. Okay, don't tell them I told you this," they started, glancing conspiratorially over at the other two. They turned their head away from them, wanting to seem like they were really about to ask something serious and personal of Challis. "Ada is going to ask Taff out."

He blinked at them, and then over at the other two, speechless.

Patch held back a grin and nodded. It was entertaining how clueless Challis could be about these kinds of things. "Okay, look. Let's go on a walk and give them some space," they suggested, knowing that they'd get the full details of what happened from one or the other later on. More than likely it would be Ada.

They walked further into the field by the side of the road, twisting in between trees as they got more and more frequent closer to the forest by the Victors' Village. They shied away from that side of the expanse of grass, though, neither of them wanting to deal with any guards pushing them out—or with the two intimidating victors living inside those gates.

But as they walked around a patch of trees leading into the woods, Patch caught sight of one of the victors, Barry Blue, leaving his house. They paused for a second, wondering if they should hide. But he was just a person—a person who had killed people, but a _person_. So they probably shouldn't hide from him.

As he was approaching the gates of the Village, Challis caught sight of him too and looked to Patch for what to do, eyes widened like they'd both seen some kind of monster.

"You're the older one!" they hissed, suddenly behind the idea of hiding from him now that it seemed like Challis was panicking too. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Challis wanted to do it too. Normally they didn't let Challis give them shit for being the oldest one in the group, but now they were in a situation that Patch didn't know what to do with, they were more than happy with ceding control on the basis of that.

"Oh, _now_ I get to be the older one," he snapped quietly. After a long second of consideration, both of them staring at each other in confusion, Challis reached out and grabbed Patch's hand. He tugged them back behind the thicket again, and the two of them leaned back against the bark of a tree, letting out a relieved breath in unison.

"Are we awful?" Patch asked, turning their head to look over at him. "He's just a guy."

"He's a guy who makes _awful_ conversation," Challis pointed out. And after a guilty glance back at Patch, he added, "And his eyes are really depressing. I don't wanna be sad right now."

Patch nodded, looking forward again. Okay, so maybe this wasn't the most mature idea in the world, but neither of them wanted to have to speak with the victor, or explain why they were running out by the grove in front of his Village like they were little kids curious about those hidden inside the walls again. They were all four and five when the most recent victor, Barry, won his games. They'd all four grown up with these two ghosts skulking around in the fences of the nicest area of Eight, and they had heard their fair share of reprimands about staying away from those poor people's homes. Now they were old enough not to spy, but apparently not old enough to stay away from the field if they were going to hide behind the trees like fools.

"You two can come out now."

Patch froze against the tree they'd leaned up against, looking over at Challis for what to do. Again, this was not _really_ the situation that they wanted to be dealing with right then, so, well. Control could be handed over to Challis twice in one day without the world exploding. Hopefully.

Barry eventually stepped around the tree to look at the two of them when they didn't come out as he asked. Patch looked sheepishly down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. They really were some of the saddest eyes they'd ever seen, like Challis said. It was like looking right into the arena, like they were still trapped in there. Actually, Patch was sure that some part of that was distantly true.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked them. He had big, bushy eyebrows that knitted together and nearly touched—probably would, if it weren't for the wrinkle that formed in between them. Patch was pretty sure he was only twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but already he looked as old as both of their forty-something parents. Patch, from the darted looks they cast in his direction, could tell from his stance that he certainly acted like their two overly tired, constantly working forty-something parents, despite being a rich victor in his twenties. They didn't even _have_ to look directly into his eyes to get sad. "You look a little old to be playing hide-and-seek."

"To be fair, sir," Challis said, and Patch wanted to facepalm at _whatever_ he'd opened his mouth to blurt, "you're never too old for hide-and-seek."

Barry Blue paused, looking between them, and Patch dared to lift their chin so they could look at him fully, although keeping their eyes pointed just to the left of his gaze when his fell on them. "Okay, fair, I guess," he said with a shrug. "Still. Doesn't seem like that's what's up to me."

Patch and Challis looked at each other, neither of them willing to own up to the fact that some small part of both of them was afraid of Barry. Obviously Patch had never been through something like the Games, but to have two kids tell them that they were _scary_ because of what they'd been involuntarily put through just to survive—they felt like that would pack a punch that would be hard to walk off. They couldn't open their mouth and admit it, even if the silence that hung in the air between the three of them was confirmation enough of what they were thinking.

Patch would easily rather be Ada right now, even if Taffeta said no to her.

Barry didn't even so much as nod to show he understood what was being communicated without words here. He just went straight into saying, "Would it help if you… asked me?" His voice was tentative. He didn't know these two people. It was clear he didn't want to freak them out. He was just trying to help them understood.

He just wanted to be understood.

Patch cleared their throat and got out, "Would it have been… better to die?"

Challis turned to them sharply and nudged them in the ribcage. They frowned and glared up at him, tempted to shove him in retaliation, but maybe that would be making them look _too_ much like they were not actually sixteen and seventeen years old, so they refrained. But only barely, with how hard his elbow had dug into them.

Barry let out a breath and smiled awkwardly, although it didn't even come close to reaching his sad eyes. He shook his head, looking down at the grass and kicking a little brown clump of it left over from the last time this area had been mowed, whenever that was. "No, I don't think so," he said. "Maybe in some ways. But I think it would've broken my family."

"Should you be telling this to us?" Challis asked, seeming defensive now. Patch looked over at him, wishing they had telepathy so they could tell him to shut up. Maybe their question had seemed too harsh, but Challis obviously hadn't made the connection that Barry _wanted_ these questions that made everyone's heart ache a little bit. If it would make him seem less like a monster behind the bars.

It wasn't like Patch was just making the questions up on the spot, anyway. They had wondered about this every time a new victor was crowned at the end of a Hunger Games. They had wondered how they would feel further down the line. Most of the Careers, of course, seemed happy as ever, but they wanted about people like Barry Blue and the escort, Ashton Baker. What did they feel? Did they feel that the guilt was even worth shouldering?

"I don't know," Barry said, and the laugh that came out was more of just a quick exhale, something connected to his heart. It seemed like there were tears on the back end of it, but he kept them in. Thank God. Patch couldn't handle the tears of a grown man right now. Maybe this was a bad idea. "Should you be running around by the Village?"

Challis shook his head, giving Barry Blue a polite smile and grabbing Patch by the arm. "No, we shouldn't. Sorry, sir," he said. He jerked Patch away from him, but they looked back and watched as he kept walking on, heading toward the shops in town. His head sagged downward and his hands found their way to his pockets. He seemed like a folded-up man. Like an origami human. "Patch, what the hell was that?"

They pulled their arm away and walked over to Ada and Taffeta, saying, "He wanted to feel like a person. So I asked him a question."

Ada and Taff looked up at them as they came back to their spot on the curb. They both looked pretty giddy, so Patch took that to mean that Taffeta had said yes to going on a date. Or going out, they weren't sure which Ada was asking exactly. They wanted to be more excited about it, but Barry's answer to their question haunted them, and Challis's reaction to it pissed them off a little bit—not enough to be actually mad, but enough that it was sticking with them.

"Where'd you two go?" Taffeta asked, trying to hide in her voice that something had just happened between the two of them. She looked over Ada and had to hold down a smile, one that made her lips twitch repeatedly as she kept it locked up.

Patch was about to look at Challis for the third time that day to take the reins, but realized they didn't really want to. "Just had to ask him a question," they said, sitting down next to Ada and leaning toward them. "So tell me what _you two_ did."

* * *

 **hello and welcome to another installment of Sydni Doesn't Feel Like Proofreading! i did a brief skim for proofreading and editing but pls my friends i am so very small and so very tired**

 **ok so i was gonna move train rides to after this chapter just to break up the monotony and then i had a wonderful revelation: i can just work on the next intro at the same time as i work on train rides part one (which will be d1-6). so that's what i'm gonna do and i may post it after d9 or i may just wait until its original intended spot to post it, idk. just probably depends on how bored i get of intros before i'm done with them (which. by the way. if i do a sequel like i'm planning, intros will Not be this long and there will not be a whole 26 chapters of them. for the sake of my sanity).**

 **also i'm gonna put capitol chapter schedule on my profile so you can see when your tribute will be and get jacked with me yeehaw! we are so close my good fellas!**

 **chapter question: what would your reaction to barry be? (also did you get what his name is referencing? blame ash for that one)**


	20. A Promise Made: District Nine

when there's nothing left  
but a little bit of dust on the ground  
and a little bit of fire in the sky,  
maybe that's when there will be enough here for you

* * *

 **Kyle Brown (18)**

 _ **District Nine**_

Kyle lifted the last bin of grain up onto the truck, pushing it in and shutting the doors behind it. He wiped his hands down on his pants and let out a breath, looking over at his boss for confirmation that he was good to go for the day. He still needed to get home and shower before he went out to the square, but when Grant asked him if he could come help out before the reaping, he didn't want to say no.

The reaping day was probably the loneliest day of the year, somehow, behind only holidays and birthdays. It was a morning when the house sat empty, and dread was supposed to fill up the room, was supposed to slip the blinds close so everyone could quietly hope together. But Kyle never felt any of that on reaping days, even when he was back in the orphanage. It was always a lot of kids crying, worrying, but Kyle had been numb to their pain. He had only ever wanted to _care_ that he could be reaped, but he couldn't muster the feeling.

Now that he was out on his own, in his own little apartment, it felt so much worse. Walls containing no one's grief but his own, when normally he'd have two parents clutching at their potential last moments with him. It just felt empty here, especially when he looked back on his time with all the other unfortunate orphaned kids of District Nine, and realized that not a single one of them had ever stuck close to him. Not a single one of them had ever cared enough to be a lifelong friend or sibling. They'd all been nice, and plenty had liked him, but it was passing. Every single thing was passing.

It was just a really bad day, and combined with the quiet apartment he was going to go back to, the reaping he would have to face on his own—it just felt a lot like today was suffocating him. Today had its fingers wrapped around his throat like tendrils of smoke, threatening to solidify.

"Kyle," Grant said as he turned away to go home, hands sliding into his pockets. Kyle turned back to him and looked at his boss. "Hey, Brown, come here."

Kyle stood there for a moment, looking over him, but then walked over to the older man. Grant Rooke was a good man from what Kyle had seen, and a dedicated farmer, always wanting to give his family what he could. He was usually pretty good to his workers, too, although his priorities were his family above all else—the rest of the world be damned. Kyle couldn't fault him for that. He would probably pick the same, if given the choice.

"You're alone this morning, aren't you?" he asked, taking off his big hat and scratching the side of his head, thin gray hair shifting as he did so. After Kyle nodded wordlessly, the farmer sighed and shook his head, looking down at the ground. He kicked at a clump of dirt, considering something. "You got any breakfast at home, Kyle?"

Kyle frowned. He hadn't really been expecting much, but if he had, it really wouldn't have been Grant asking if he had any _breakfast_ at home. "Uh… I mean, I got stuff to eat, yeah," he told him.

Grant shook his head. "No, kid, I mean… I mean, do you wanna come over and have breakfast with me and my family?" he asked, putting his hat back on his head.

Kyle looked at him for a moment, wondering if there was some kind of catch. Or if this was some really weird dream, but he didn't think his mind could even come up with the concept of his boss asking him to eat breakfast before the reaping in a dream. He started to shake his head, feeling like it wasn't his place to intrude on Grant's family time before the reaping, even if he didn't have anyone else to go to. These would be Grant's people, not Kyle's.

But then he thought of trudging back to his apartment, getting cleaned up and dressed in silence, and said, "Sure."

"Okay," Grant said, nodding. He motioned for Kyle to follow after him, starting to head toward his house at the end of the grain field. "Oh!" He jogged back over to the truck and hit the back of it, after he must have realized that neither of them indicated to the driver that he was good to go.

The walk to the house was long, with the two of them striding in silence, hands in their pockets. Kyle could tell that Grant wanted to say something, to ask him something, but he kept his lips sealed.

The house at the end of the field wasn't too big, but it was much nicer than Kyle was accustomed to. Grant Rooke wasn't an exceptionally successful farmer, but he was surely comfortable. Kyle looked around at the yard, with remnants of kids playing in the yard left out, and over in a little gravel driveway was a very beat-up truck that Grant must have used to get some of his supplies. Kyle knew that he wasn't an inefficient man, and he rarely owned anything for himself that didn't server a dual purpose. For his family, though, it seemed like he allowed himself to splurge on wants more than needs, if the wooden playground set in the side yard said anything.

"Just to warn you," Grant said, looking over at him before he opened the door. "We have a little six-year-old girl and she's very hyper. But our twelve-year-old's pretty laidback."

Kyle nodded. He didn't mind kids, so that wouldn't be a problem. "I shouldn't stay long, though," he told him. "I have to clean up and get changed before the reaping."

"Right," Grant said, nodding. He started to turn the door handle when he looked over at Kyle again. "You know, we have some old clothes from our eldest son that we were just gonna give away. You can use our shower and wear his old reaping clothes."

Kyle shrugged a little bit, automatically turning that down without thinking. He couldn't take their charity outfit, not after he was already taking their charity breakfast. It felt like too much niceness to really be natural. He was only Grant's worker, anyway, and the man, while kind, was never this generous or welcoming to any of the others. It just screamed that he pitied Kyle, and he appreciated the gesture, but he couldn't swallow pity.

"I insist," Grant told him, "as long as you're comfortable." He opened the door and stepped inside, kicking off his dirty shoes at the side. Kyle followed suit, looking around the house, with light blue furniture and a rich, dark floor. It was nice in here, and reminded him a little bit of pictures of his grandmother's house. She had been a woman with a little bit of money, and a great sense of design, from what he could tell from his mother's stories and her photo album. "Kyle, I… I don't want to make it awkward, but I sort of see you as a… another kid. Not because you're… you know, fresh out of the orphanage. Just because you're a hard worker, and you've got a good head on your shoulders."

Kyle was struck by that, and before he had any time to process it, another man came into the room, smiling at Grant. He leaned in for a brief kiss and then looked at Kyle. "Oh, this is Kyle Brown, isn't it?" the man asked. He stretched his hand out toward Kyle, looking at him with warm, pleasant eyes. "I'm so glad my husband finally invited you over."

"Uh…" Kyle smiled uncomfortably and laughed a little bit, holding up his dirty hands. "I shouldn't til I wash my hands, sir. But thank you for inviting me into your home."

There was the distant sound of giggling and the pattering of feet on the hardwood floor, and as it got louder and louder, a little girl burst through the archway leading into the living room, but stopped short when she saw Kyle standing there. Another kid, definitely the twelve-year-old, came running in after his little sister, hands outstretched to scoop her up, but he also skid to a halt when he saw the unfamiliar man in the doorway.

"Who's that?" the older one asked, looking between his dads. "I mean… I'm Lyle. Who are you?"

"Uh…" Kyle was tired of awkwardly saying "uh" every time one of these people said something to him, but he felt like he'd just been invited to some kind of family gathering for a family that he had never heard of, but that had _obviously_ heard of him, if Grant's husband knew him by first and last name. "I'm Kyle. I— I work for your dad, here."

The six-year-old ran over to Grant's husband and hid behind his legs, and the man gave a deep, rumbling chuckle, swooping her up into his arms and letting her bury her shy face into his shoulder. "Well, I'm Sam, Kyle, and this is Dela. We'll be happy to have you before the, uh"—his smile fell fractionally, and his eyes darted to the archway where Liam was standing—"the events today."

Grant patted Kyle on the shoulder. "Sorry for the bit of chaos. If you wanna get cleaned up before we eat, our son's bedroom was at the end of the hallway. His reaping clothes are in a box on the bed, and the bathroom's right next door," he said. He started to go to the kitchen, taking his husband's hand and giving Dela a kiss on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind me letting Kyle wear Oliver's stuff."

Kyle waited for Sam to answer before he went, but he just shook his head and said, "Not like it was any use to us anymore, anyway."

For a moment Kyle wondered, from the way that was worded, if this Oliver was okay. But the two of them were too jovial for Oliver to have died, or anything else like that. So he assumed that Oliver was just out of reaping age now, and safe from ever having to be onstage at one of these events again.

Unfortunately for them, just as he aged out, apparently, they had Liam age in.

Kyle found the bedroom that Oliver must have been in before. The walls were just a little grayer than navy blue, and the floor was a scratched-up old wooden floor, much less kept up than that of the floor in the living room. He went over to the box on the bed and pulled off the lid, looking inside. There were lots of t-shirts and buttons up on the top, and a pair of black slacks folded up on the side. He grabbed a white button-up, the slacks, and some suspenders that were tossed in there in case the pants didn't fit right.

The shower at the orphanage often didn't work, leading them to take more baths than anything else, and his apartment just had a tub like his parents' house had before they died. So he knew how to work a shower, but it had been a long time since he had had a nice, proper shower. When he was under the water, he shut his eyes and let himself enjoy it.

He didn't want to use up all their hot water, though, so eventually he stepped out and dried himself off, getting into the clean reaping clothes and folding up his other clothes, setting them over in the corner for lack of a better idea on what to do. The pants were a little loose on him so the suspenders were necessary. Just before he left the bathroom, he remembered to reach into his other pants, pulling the picture out of his pocket. He ran his thumb over it for just a second, looking down at the faces of his parents and his older sister. He tucked it into the pocket of the slacks and walked out of the bathroom, running a hand through his damp hair to keep loose strands from falling into his eyes.

He found his way into the kitchen, where Sam and Grant were just finishing up cooking, it seemed, and Liam was getting Dela to help set the table—with one of the end seats being set this time along with the four in the middle, undoubtedly for him. He looked at the plate that Liam sat at that spot for a moment before announcing his presence by clearing his throat.

Grant turned to look at him and waved him over. "Hey, Kyle. Go ahead and have a seat," he told him.

Kyle waited until the kids sat down to sit at the end of the table. Sam and Grant brought eggs over and set them in the middle of the table. Liam looked to Kyle, waiting to see if he was going to go first, but Kyle waved the kid off. So he pulled the big plate over to himself and dumped some of the eggs on his plate, pushing some off onto Dela's as well. There was also bread and butter, and some cheese to sprinkle over the eggs. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was more than the shittily-made bread he would've had for breakfast at home.

"Thank you for this," Kyle said to Grant, feeling deeply grateful for him. This was all he'd wanted since he went into that orphanage, honestly. He had just wanted to know that he was seen, that he was still a person even though everyone who tied him to the world was gone. This wasn't enough to ease any of the pain, but it made him feel a little less like he was drowning in it.

Grant shook his head. "It's my pleasure, Kyle. I just want you to know I… I appreciate the work you do," he said.

Throughout the breakfast, Sam tried to ask him questions about home, but since there wasn't much going on with him beyond getting up, going to work, and occasionally making a trip down to the store, there wasn't much for him to say. He didn't want to tell his sob story in front of Liam and Dela either, so they shied away from questions about his life before he lived on his own. Eventually, he wasn't the center of attention anymore, thankfully, and they started to talk to each other. Occasionally one of them glanced over at Kyle to see if he'd add his two cents, but he didn't have anything to say. He was just… letting himself enjoy it.

Liam seemed bored, too, and turned to Kyle while his parents talked about their trip up to the capital that day. They were going to go into the nice stores like they'd saved up to do, and Dela was getting excited about the dress she wanted them to buy, but Liam whispered to him, "You're alone, aren't you? My dads say you're alone. Not _to_ me, but I overheard."

Kyle shrugged. "Um, yeah. My parents and my sister are gone," he told him. He wiped his hands off on the cloth napkin and then ran his hands down his shirt, straightening up some wrinkles from him sitting there. "So… you eavesdropped on your parents."

Liam smiled up at him and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Only when they won't tell me things."

"That's not very good," Kyle said, but he was entertained by the kid's spying. He was obviously a nosy little dude, but he seemed genuinely sweet and good, kind of like the goodness his fathers exuded. Dela and Liam were definitely in good hands, being adopted by these two.

Was that some kind of sign? No, it wouldn't be. He was eighteen, and he had never gotten so lucky as to receive such a sign before, even though there were plenty of people coming through the orphanage who he connected with when he was younger. But as soon as they found out who his dad was, things never worked out.

When Sam and Grant realized he was actually Kyle Walker, son of Neil Walker—well, they probably wouldn't be so generous to him, not when they thought of how Peacekeepers gave Kyle shit wherever he went. His stepmom had tossed him aside to clear her name after her father and sister were caught smuggling someone who escaped a reaping across the border of Three and Nine. After the two were killed over it. He would be stupid to think he'd be so lucky with his _boss_ of all people, when his own stepmom hadn't cared enough.

"Lots of things aren't very good," Liam said, leaning back in his seat and pushing his empty plate forward. He crossed his arms, looking kind of like he was _trying_ to be cool. It was entertaining, to say the least. "I'm a bad dude, Mr. Kyle Brown."

Kyle chuckled and looked down at the table. "You know, Liam, I find that hard to believe," he said. He looked at the kid again and leaned over slightly, narrowing his eyes like he was keeping a secret with him. "But I'll take your word for it if you do something for me."

Liam paused, considering, and then nodded, assenting to the deal like it was something far more sinister than what it was. "Go on," he said.

Kyle's eyes shifted over to Sam and Grant for a moment, and he said, "You have fun with your parents after the reaping today, okay?"

Liam frowned, not having expected something so mundane, but Kyle could see that in trying to be brave on the day of his first reaping, Liam was just detaching himself from his family. He was separating himself from feeling how scared he was of leaving them, by refusing to be excited about the things that they were doing while he was here. The picture in Kyle's pocket was far too heavy to let the kid do that to himself.

* * *

Kyle's life came to a staggering halt when Victory Rose, the escort of District Nine, read out the name "Liam Rooke," letting it echo through the square with glee in their voice. Excited to see who would be going into the Games this year. Excited to see the person who would be dying for their entertainment this year.

For a moment, he reasoned with himself that Liam Rooke was a pretty average name. Maybe not the most common in District Nine, but it wasn't impossible that there were two. But then Victory Rose seemed to account for the same situation when she added, "Rooke with an _e_ on the end, by the way."

That was when Kyle knew what had to happen. It didn't really matter, did it? No matter what happened, this would change everything. He would live rich and without worries, or he'd die and his lonely apartment wouldn't have to be filled to the brim with his grief anymore. And Liam Rooke could spend time with his family, could spend a lifetime with his family. Liam Rooke could be free.

Time slowed down for a moment as he tried to see past everyone else to the twelves section, to the shifting mass of kids as they moved for Liam Rooke with an _e_ on the end. Kyle couldn't see his face, but he knew that he was heading out. That he was probably terrified, and that his parents were probably already feeling the full pain of a reaped child. Liam couldn't come back, unless a partner brought him home. And even then, Liam Rooke couldn't come back home okay.

And he couldn't keep his promise to Kyle, if he was off in the arena.

"I volunteer!" he called out, loudly, before Liam had even found his way out into the aisle. He brushed past the people around him and went up to the stage. It wasn't far. He was finally in the eighteens section this year.

Victory Rose looked at him with their eyebrows raised. "Oh, dear, okay," they said, glancing over at a cameraman, who shrugged at them in confusion. "Okay, well, I don't know that this is protocol, but you're already up here… What's your name, mister?"

"Kyle B—" He paused, looking out at the crowd. No, that wasn't his legal name. That wasn't who he was. "I'm… I'm Kyle Walker."

* * *

 **no proofreading yet again we die like men. also yeah we do have a lot of volunteers it's ok idc bc i like all of their reasons for it**

 **this is kyle he's from my buddy chase and he needs some fuckin therapy**

 **chapter question: if you were to read kyle's dialogue in your head, what Accent is he speaking in? i'm just curious bc i know what accent he has in my head and it makes No Sense logically but that's just the way it be and i'm curious if anyone got that vibe even tho i didn't mention it in-chapter**


	21. The Star Fighter: District Nine

we all love the stars  
til they decide to start  
devouring

* * *

 **Divya North (14)**

 _ **District Nine**_

 **about a week ago**

"You have everything?" Pippa called from the living room as Divya gathered up all of her things. Divya looked around her bedroom, making sure she had gotten everything she'd brought over to her biological mother's house. Once she was satisfied she had, she threw her bag over her arm and went out into the living room, where Pippa was, waiting for her on the couch. "There you are. Got everything?"

Divya nodded and went toward the door. "I'll see you next weekend," she said. She heard Pippa saying her goodbyes as well, as they did every weekend that Divya came over there to stay, and she started to leave. But as she was halfway out the door, she felt something tugging her back inside.

It was the last weekend she'd be staying at her biological mom's house before the reaping. That didn't sit right in her stomach. Even after the last two years, she still wasn't used to standing in that square, hoping, _praying_ —

She went to her mom and wrapped her up in a hug, shutting her eyes for a moment. "See you next weekend," she told her. When she pulled away, she was smiling like she hadn't gotten sentimental. Because she would prefer everyone to forget that she did. She turned and walked out of the open door, shutting it behind her and letting out a breath. Okay, so that was over, thankfully. She hadn't even known where it came from. Yeah, she was a little scared of the reaping, but there was no reason to get mushy and huggy about it.

She didn't really feel like going home today, though, but Audez and Benjamin were busy and couldn't hang out. She didn't know if Audez's twin, Talissa, would be free, but she didn't often hang out with her alone, without her brother there, too. That might be awkward. But all that would be on TV would be old Games reruns—the highlights of victors' interviews, the best Opening Ceremonies since the second rebellion, the Top Ten Goriest Kills, brought to you by Benicius Waie! Nothing that Divya could be interested in for long than an hour at most, since all of it blurred into one eventually. And got kind of really sad once she started to actually think about it, too.

She knew she had to check in with The Dads before she could do anything, though, so she trudged down side streets toward home, wondering if Clarabelle would be free. Not that Divya really _wanted_ to go see her sister. Last time they'd seen each other, they had gotten in an argument about… well, okay, Divya couldn't remember, but Clarabelle had called Divya a selfish bitch. Granted, Divya had also called Clara a heartless asshole, but, you know, whatever. But she kind of wanted to see her little nephew. He wasn't all that much fun yet, being mostly just a little noisy blob of a human, but she wanted him to like her. She was determined to be Fun Aunt Divya. By default she was Fun Aunt Divya since Kane's dad didn't have any sisters, but she wanted to earn the title anyway.

When she got back to the house, only Tamashi was there, and she assumed Rob was out talking to one of the rich landowners about moving to a new house. She dropped her bag beside the couch and flopped down next to her Papa, looking at the TV. It was just the normal week-before-the-Games shit, as she suspected. The Games Announcer was going over old Games, bringing his fresh comments to the events from years ago. It was probably the beginning of the program because he was talking about Talisa Longstaff's Games.

"Have fun at Pippa's?" Papa asked, looking over at her and drawing bored eyes away from the television. She nodded to him, leaning back into the couch cushions. "You'll have to tell her that next weekend we're going out on a trip."

"Oh, yeah," Divya said, sighing. She had forgotten that they were going out to the edge of District Nine next weekend, for Dad to make a sale to some Capitolite scientist who was temporarily moving to Nine for her research. They were going to have to make a _good impression,_ and already that just didn't sound like a good time to Divya.

Papa opened his mouth like he was about to say something about her unwillingness to go, but then he just shrugged and leaned back against the couch. Something told her that he wasn't really a fan of the idea either. She knew well enough that people of the district judged Tamashi and Rob. She had heard it at school since she was younger, but she never understood why until she realized that it was Tamashi's transition, and how old they were when they adopted her. Which was stupid, and was just another reason why she hated spending time around the rich people of Nine who used Rob's real estate to move around to the nicer sections of the district.

On TV, she watched as Talisa killed the last person left alive in her Games, and stood victorious as the Games Announcer revealed her as the Seventy-sixth victor. After that, Benicius Waie came back onscreen to start talking about the next most-exciting victory of the new era. It was predictably the Eighty-first, the first year that two people could win, and she watched as district partners Nicolette Dion and Tan Nolan worked together to weed out the tributes. Divya hadn't been alive then, but she'd seen clips of that time, and she liked Tan Nolan even though he was one of the first Careers after the Academies fell apart following the Second Rebellion. He seemed confident and coordinated, but also he was always undeniably charismatic during his interviews. He just seemed like a people person—which definitely made up for reclusive, quiet Nicolette Dion, who'd never been anything more than an all-business kind of woman.

"We can change the channel," Papa said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She wanted to shrug away from it—she didn't like cuddling with her dads as she had when she was younger—but she didn't, not wanting him to feel bad. He always got mushy closer to reaping time, even before she was of age.

"It'll just be more of this stuff," she said. Finding an excuse to get away from the couch, she stood up and grabbed her back. "When's Dad getting home?" She pulled the bag over her shoulder and looked back at Papa. They'd probably start making lunch soon if Dad was going to be home in time, which would give her something to do and would get them away from the repetitive, sometimes gross Games reruns, and would prevent them from having to be sappy together.

"He said he'd be back a little after noon," Papa said. She nodded and turned to go drop her bag in her room, knowing that meant that lunch-making was a go.

Tamashi had gotten up from the couch when she came back out. He'd changed the TV channel too. It was still playing Games stuff, but it wasn't reruns of the Games now. This channel was all about the evolution of the pre-Games process since two victors were made a thing, which was kind of interesting, so she paused in the living room. She watched the beginning clip, but the person running the show seemed particularly vapid, even for a Capitolite, and all they were saying is something about the two-person interviews.

Tamashi had sandwich stuff spread out on the counter and she hopped up on top of it. He turned to her as she dragged a plate and the bread over to her, beginning to make hers. "So what did you two do this weekend?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Same stuff we always do," she answered. Honestly, her biological mom's house got kind of boring sometimes. She didn't want to sound spoiled, but she was kind of used to the money that the owner of the only real estate company in Nine had, and Pippa was much less fortunate. She made it by, but like normal people in Nine did. Divya lived comfortably with Rob and Tamashi, with a tablet in her room, a TV in the living room, snacks always in the cabinets. Her mother had a little TV in the living room that barely worked, and only ran the Games when they came on. She was always tired when Divya was there from working all week. It wasn't awful, and she would never stop going, but the weekends she was there were never eventful. "What did you and Dad do?"

"Nothing fun without you, Div," he said, smiling over at her.

She rolled her eyes. "I've never said you can't do anything fun without me," she said, although she remembered the last time they'd done something exciting while she was with Pippa. She had complained about it then. So maybe that was her nonverbal way of asking them to be bored while she wasn't around to enjoy it with them.

"We wouldn't want to do anything fun without you, anyway, Divya," Papa said.

* * *

The boy that was reaped with her seemed rigid. He walked like his shoulders were strained against weight placed on them, and he stood between her and the Peacekeepers the entire way as they were herded into the Justice Building.

She had never had problems with Peacekeepers before, but she never did anything to attract attention from them. She liked to get into shit, yeah, but she and her friends were smart, and they never did anything _really_ stupid. But she knew that some of them, the ones trained in Two harder than even Careers were—those weren't to be fucked with. And maybe she had fucked with them a little bit when she screamed at them.

She couldn't help it. Her heart felt like it was crushing inward again as she thought about her name being reaped. She shut her eyes for a couple steps, but it only took her back to the moment where she'd yelled towards the camera.

Divya couldn't even remember what she said. That it wasn't fair? That they were awful? She didn't know, but the Peacekeeper who had grabbed her by the arm had left bruises in the shape of his fingers. This guy—Kyle was his name, she was pretty sure—he was just protecting her from that. That only made her want to cry again.

"In there," one of them said, pointing for Kyle to leave her and go into his room. They walked another few feet, and without him behind her, she now felt that same rigidity he walked with. Maybe it wasn't so much _weight_ on his shoulders as it was fear. He had volunteered, but he wasn't a Career. He was probably just as scared as she was. The Peacekeeper opened the door to her room without a word and she walked in, glancing back at the helmeted figure before the door shut again.

This was surreal. She was pretty sure that her head hadn't caught up with her body yet. She knew it hadn't when she started yelling. Everything was a few steps behind where she actually was in space and time, and she was reeling while she waited for them to catch up. The room felt like it was spinning a little bit.

Divya was still standing in the same spot when her family came in, all of them at once—Dad and Papa, followed closely by Clarabelle, and a tiny little Kane who was crying. He was so little, he didn't know what was going on. He was probably just hungry or scared of all the commotion, but she felt sick to her stomach. Like she had caused her baby nephew to cry over this. Even Clarabelle's husband, Ica, came in, a hand on Clarabelle's back and a hand hovering near Kane as her shoulders shook.

"Div," Papa said, coming over to her and putting a hand on her arm, looking at the bruises from where she'd been grabbed. She gasped, not out of pain, but only just realizing that she was crying again. Probably had been since she came into this room.

"Where's Pippa?" she asked, wanting to see everyone, needing to see everyone. "Where are my friends?"

"They're outside, hon," Dad said, coming to Papa's other side and looking down at her with eyes softened in pain and sympathy. He had the kindest eyes in the world. She had never understood how she managed to talk to the cruelest, richest people in Nine when he seemed like a man who was incapable of relating to that kind of harshness. His personality was smooth edges that seemed susceptible to that sharpness and those pointy corners. This seemed like the knife that had finally managed to puncture.

Maybe she was just thinking about herself though. Maybe she just wasn't thinking at all.

"Divya," Dad said, running a hand through her short hair. Her lips quirked up in a half-second smile, a twitch of her face between the crying. He let out a breath, lips closed together to concentrate the air. "Div, I love you. More than anything else."

"Except maybe spaghetti," Papa added on, his smile heartbroken, and she laughed a little bit as she wiped at her eyes.

"Maybe my last meal will be spaghetti," she whispered, but the joke didn't land. Not even with herself this time. It was too real, too self-deprecating.

"Divya North, don't say that," her sister said as both of their fathers shut their eyes and tried to blow past that remark. Now her sister moved in front of her, their dads stepping out of the way for her. "Divya, you're a scrappy girl. It is _not_ unlikely for a fourteen-year-old to win. Especially if you stick with that big guy—he seems nice."

"I'll have a partner that's not from Nine," she reminded Clarabelle, looking up at her. "The Quell, remember?"

That sunk into Clarabelle's head. She sighed. "Well, the kid seemed nice anyway. They never said they were _banning_ alliances not between partners," she told Divya. "I—" She breathed in, like she was sucking that sigh back in slowly, forcing herself to remain positive where her fathers could only make small attempts at jokes. Clarabelle had always been hard, but maybe now she was trying to make that pay off.

Clarabelle put her hands on Divya's shoulders, like she was going to shake her like she always said she would. It ran through Divya's head that she'd handed Kane over to Ica when she came over, although that wasn't important. Instead of getting angry, she just smiled softly at her little sister and said, "If all our arguments tell me anything, it's that you're stubborn enough to come home, sis. And I'd be really sad if you didn't."

There was a lot of hugging before they were gone, and she watched her family disappear back out to Nine. She hadn't moved from where she was standing.

* * *

 **this ones kinda shorter but i wrote half of it on my phone and it's been a week so i just wanna post it. divya is from EllaRoseEverdeen! no chapter question today lads lmk what you think**


	22. The Ties Binding Us: District Ten

sometimes  
we are a little too much alike  
and sometimes  
we cannot separate our ties  
no matter how close to the edge  
one of us gets

* * *

 **James Locke (16)**

 _ **District Ten**_

 **four months ago**

"Come on," James said, poking his head in his sister's room. "You know it'll be fun."

He had been begging Emma to come with him and his friends all week. Mostly he just wanted to see her have some fun, but he also wanted to have someone to cling to if his friends brought out alcohol. Maybe he was a goody-two-shoes, and maybe everyone already knew that, but he'd just feel better about it if Emma was there with him. Even though she'd probably get into the alcohol with or without him, but at least she'd be there to threaten anyone who teased him for being such a goody-goody.

"No, it won't be for me," Emma said, looking up at him from where she was laying in her room. She seemed to have been expecting an arrival from him, but that didn't surprise him. She knew well enough that tonight was the night of the party, and how badly he wanted her to go. "You go ahead, James. Don't worry about me."

He glared at her, without any real animosity, but he was genuinely annoyed with her. He wouldn't let that show, only because he didn't want her to truly feel _bad_ , but she never did anything anymore. When they were younger, at least she would come and do some things, and she had a few friends other than him, but now it seemed like she barely knew anyone at school other than her twin. And the only thing she ever wanted to do was stay in the house, or occasionally hang out with James.

And, like. James loved his twin sister to death, but she was his _twin sister._ They'd been together for _sixteen years_ , since he arrived into the world three minutes after her, and sometimes he got tired of it. Which he knew made him sound like a dick, but sometimes she just got on his last nerve, in the way all siblings did.

He had thought before how hypocritical he was, wanting to stop spending so much time with her by inviting her out and therefore spending _more_ time with her, but he knew she'd get along with some of his friends really well. There was even one girl, Liz, who he wasn't super close to, but he was pretty sure he'd accidentally overheard her talking about liking girls. None of his business, _obviously_ , but… definitely _interesting_ with Emma in mind…

James parked himself down in her doorway and stared at her on her bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Welp," he said, looking up at the ceiling like he was resigning himself to this terrible, terrible fate. "I guess I can't go, then, Em. Guess I'm trapped at home with no big sister to watch over me."

Emma looked down at him with eyelids sagging irritably, and her entire face screamed that she wanted to throttle him. "You're not playing this game with me, _Jimmy_ ," she said, and he wrinkled his nose up and shook his head at the annoying nickname people tried to pin on him when he was younger.

"I am, unfortunately," he said, sighing with the weight of the world on his forlorn shoulders. He leaned over against the door, slowly letting it tilt further toward the wall until he was at a resting position against it. "I wish I wasn't, but…"

She shook her head and stood up, going over to him and starting to push him. " _Quit._ You're going to your dumb party without me," she told him, trying to get him out of the doorway, but he wouldn't budge. "Oh, shit, James, you're really going to make me go, aren't you?"

James smiled at her and nodded, standing up as she came to this conclusion. "Not if you're going to be miserable, but I don't think you will be," he said. She seemed unsure again, so he said, "Please, Em. _Please?_ "

She let out a breath and shoved him out. He stumbled back and she shut the door behind her, but he knew that she was getting ready, not getting him out of the room. He went back out to the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the door as he waited for her to come out. Both of their parents were out with the neighbors, who always saved up change here and there for drinking nights with the four of them, which meant they were free to run the house and come and go as they pleased.

Emma came out in something that wasn't what she slept in, her hair back in a messy ponytail. "Let's get this going," she said, waving her hand in a circular hurry-up motion. James stood up, smiling at her and hurrying out the door. He practically hopped down the stairs, skipping all but one of the five steps. Emma walked behind him slower, trailing back along the sidewalk as James started to ramble about how much fun this night was going to be. They hadn't done anything actually _exciting_ together in ages.

By the time they were at Donnie Lang's house, James had slowed down to Emma's pace and the two of them walked shoulder-to-shoulder into Donnie's house. It wasn't a big party, just a lot of the people James hung out with, but it was more people than Emma had probably hung out with outside of school in a while. She seemed instantly uncomfortable the moment they walked inside and everyone began greeting them.

"Hey, there's Liz over there," James said, nodding toward her. "You know Liz, don't you? She's really nice."

Emma knew he was trying to pawn her off on someone who would make her feel less overwhelmed than everyone at once, and she seemed both relieved and annoyed that he had suggested she go talk to Liz. Maybe she already knew Liz was bi or whatever, so she knew exactly what he was doing. Either way, she went off to talk to Liz, and he went over to where Donnie was on his couch.

"Hey!" he said, grinning and plopping down next to him. "I hope you don't care I brought my sister."

Donnie turned his attention away from Keaton, the guy standing over behind them who Donnie had been talking to. "Oh, no, that's okay," he said. "Emma's always welcome."

Olivia came over and sat on Donnie's lap, which was about the most awkward thing in the world while James was right there, so he got up and decided to go see where Ronan was. As he went toward the kitchen which led to the rest of the house, he saw Liz and Emma talking in the corner, and smiled to himself. So that seemed to work out really well, actually.

Ronan was getting something to drink in the kitchen, and turned around when James said, "Hey, Ro."

"Oh, hey," Ronan said. He looked around for a second, and when he saw no one was near them, he came a little closer to James. "So, uh… Okay, I've been meaning to ask this—"

James's heart sped up for a second, but he wasn't even sure why. He had no idea what Ronan was going to ask, but since he was James's best friend, the entire concept of something he _didn't_ know about the guy was worrying.

Emma walked into the kitchen. As soon as James saw her, he opened his mouth to tell Ronan to hang on a second. His secret could wait a minute, but he wanted to know if Emma was still getting along okay with the party. But Ronan grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the kitchen, into the hallway. Ronan looked back into the kitchen, seeing that Emma was just leaning against the counter, looking confused. Then he turned back to James, who was… awfully close to him. Like, close enough that it was a little awkward, and he didn't know what to say or if now was even an appropriate time to be breathing.

Ronan lowered his voice and asked, "Okay, sorry, that was weird, but… do you think Emma would go out with me?"

James was taken aback. He actually stepped backward and looked toward the kitchen doorway, at the light spilling out of it into the dark hallway. "Uhh… No, man, sorry. Nothing against you," he said, so weirded out that he just wanted to be away from Ronan right then. He loved the guy, but that was so strangely-executed. Plus, he hated questions like that because Emma… really didn't like guys like that. But James wasn't going to tell anyone else that. "I'm— sorry, I think I need to… make sure she's good."

He slipped away from Ronan, back into the kitchen, and brought Emma back out into the living room. He went over to the corner, where she and Liz had been, relieved that he was out of an awkward situation so quickly, without actually having to answer any questions. He hadn't been expecting… that question. Maybe some other question. He didn't know. He really didn't know. It felt a lot more frustrating than it should've.

"Why did you say I should talk to Liz?" Emma asked, unconcerned about how weird Ronan had been in the kitchen. "She's— Why? What was the point?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Surely things hadn't gone poorly that quickly. They hadn't been talking for long, and they already didn't like each other? Honestly, sometimes it seemed like Emma didn't even try to make friendships, which was so upsetting. He hated seeing her as lonely as he knew she was, but there was nothing he could do about it. They talked to each other about a lot of stuff, but they were siblings. There was only so much they could do for each other. James would go crazy if Emma was his only best friend like he was her only one.

"These aren't my people, James," she said, her shoulders sagging down fractionally, but he caught it. And even though he kept it in his thoughts, he was instantly mad at himself for criticizing her so hard. She didn't want to have such a hard time connecting with these people. He sighed and looked away from her. He had forced her into this. But she really did need to get out more. She was drowning herself in her loneliness back home. "Just… Liz— I mean, you know, I can't. I can't… be in a relationship or anything."

James paused for a minute as his entire understanding of the situation was flipped on its head. "So you… hit it off?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, but… I wish we _hadn't_ —"

Ronan came up to them, his shoulder brushing against James's, and the drink in his hand spilled all over Emma as he stumbled forward. "Oh, shit," he said, but James looked up at his face and there was the hint of a smile on it, for a fraction of a second. He didn't know what to do, though, because this was _Ronan_ , and Emma's cheeks were now beet red as everyone started looking at her. He hurried instinctively to the kitchen and started looking for a rag, finding some strips of fabric Donnie's family must've used for rags. He brought it quickly over to Emma and handed it to his sister, who took it and started walking silently to the bathroom. "Oh, man, you gotta tell her I'm sorry, Jimmy."

James looked up at Ronan again, and the only word he could think of for what he was feeling was _flabbergasted._ Either this was him being the biggest dick he'd ever been before, or… or James didn't know what.

"I better go see if she's good," Ronan said, starting to go toward the bathroom, and then James understood. He was doing this so he could fucking get close to her. Before he even thought about the fact that he was tiny, and Ronan was stronger than him, he moved around to the front of his best friend and punched him square in the face.

The next few seconds ran around James like a goddamn tornado starting at his feet. He looked down at his hand and cradled it in the other one, because holy shit, the bones in the face really hurt your hand when you punched. Which was not something he knew before. Just as he was stumbling away from Ronan, it hit him that he had just punched Ronan, and that his best friend was acting so uncharacteristically dickish. Ronan and James never talked about girls before, mostly because James didn't really like that topic. So he never knew that he was so into Emma, or that he would be so weird about it.

And just as he was recovering from all of that, he was on the floor, his nose screaming with pain, and he was pretty sure it was bleeding now. But he didn't have to think about that for long.

* * *

When he woke up, he was in his room at home, and Emma was sitting over on the floor reading a book. She was back in pajamas, and his nose stung when he wrinkled it up slightly. He reached up and touched the bruised skin, hissing in pain. Emma looked up at him and sighed, going to stand over the bed. She'd left her book open to the page she was on, laying facedown on the floor.

"You tried to get in a fight, with _Ronan_ ," she said, as if he needed a recap of everything that happened that night.

He flipped away from his sister and stared over at the wall. How had one night gone so horribly? They weren't even at the party for longer than thirty minutes, and everything went to shit. He wanted to be mad at Ronan, but he couldn't help but feel like it was really his fault. He should've listened to his sister. He shouldn't have gone straight for punching. That wasn't like him at all, and it put a horrible, sick feeling in his stomach. He was so ashamed, it was rolling around inside him, and he wasn't sure if he was actually going to throw up or not. But it was a possibility. He wasn't like this. He wasn't angry and aggressive. He tried to leave everything better than what it was when he arrived, but how could he say he was upholding that when he resorted to this?

Emma sat down on the edge of the bed, so he sighed and sat up, the blankets falling off his shoulders. He looked at them in his lap, tangled up since he never made his bed. He was so fucking tired, even though he had been unconscious for however long.

For a while, they just sat in each other's silence, and he wished it could stay like that, so they didn't have to confront the fact that James had done something so un-James it was physically making him sick. But eventually, Emma leaned against his shoulder and put her arm around him. She was so much stronger than he was. Even though she was so quiet and distanced, she was stronger mentally, too. She kept to herself, didn't bother with other people's business. James just wanted to help people, just wanted to do good, and maybe sometimes he got so caught up in that that he forgot what was actually best for the other person. It was easy when he was giving a little tesserae grain away here and there. Hunger was hunger and the answer was always food. But with people's thoughts and feelings, things got a little more complicated.

"Thank you for standing up for me," she said, her lips pursed together in a sympathetic half-smile.

He looked over at her and just felt like breaking down. But he let out a breath and said, "Shitty party, huh?"

Emma breathed out a laugh and shook her head. "A little bit, yeah."

And it'd be okay, he guessed. He still had Emma. He always had Emma.

* * *

 **Emma Locke (16)**

 _ **District Ten**_

 **present day**

The worst part of the reaping day was saying goodbye to her parents as they went off into the square. She could see the concern in their eyes, wondering if that would be the last time they interacted with their children as regular children, instead of tributes signed off for the Games. They always seemed just shy of crying, and Emma wouldn't really know what to do with that kind of reaction. She didn't like dealing with crying.

Emma saw Ronan over with some of James's other buddies, and the two of them cast each other a look. Ever since the party, Ronan was really apologetic about punching James, even if James swung first. And he said he was sorry for being weird about Emma, but she got the feeling that James couldn't trust him after that. She didn't blame him. He seemed so much slimier than she had ever realized when he was just James's buff best friend who he was always off doing something with. Now he seemed a little bit like a secret creep.

Emma and James didn't speak until they had to part ways to split into the two sides of the square. She waved goodbye to her brother and went to stand with all the others in the girl section of her grade. She saw Liz Altan was looking over in her direction, and when she met eyes with her, Liz waved her over. For a moment, Emma wondered if it was really for her. She looked around to make sure that there was no one else near her that Liz could be waving to, and when it was just her and a bunch of girls that didn't live in their part of District Ten, she went over.

"Hey," Liz said, and Emma nodded in greeting. The two of them had talked more since that night, but Emma still wasn't sure what to do around her. She was still convinced somehow that Liz wasn't her kind of people. She had buddies at school, like her friend Jay, but they were quiet people together. Liz was so full of life. "So… I know this is a really shitty place to ask you, but it seems like I can never find you."

 _Nope._ She didn't like questions, especially not questions that were deemed shitty for a reaping. All questions that had to do with that were things that came from James, like, _Hey, do you wanna go to this awesome, really chill party that's going to actually turn out awful?_ All of these questions were never even about Emma, because none of these people knew her. Ronan had never really given a shit about her. He just thought she was pretty, and Liz probably just thought she was… intriguing, because no one knew anything about her.

"Do you wanna do something sometime?" she asked. "Just us. Whenever we talk, your brother is always there, or your one friend, you know?"

Emma looked at her for a moment. She had expected being invited to a party or something, not… just hanging out the two of them. But still, Liz didn't actually _know_ Emma enough.

"I mean…" Emma didn't know how to get out of this without sounding like a bitch, but wasn't it bitchy of Liz to ask? To want to hang out just because Emma was some weird enigma everyone was always trying to solve? "I don't know, Liz, we don't really know each other."

Liz tilted her head to the side, smiling in confusion. "Yeah… Yeah, that's why I wanna hang out," she told her, confirming everything Emma thought. She didn't want to be there right now. She hated it when people made her feel like she was some freak they could dissect for their entertainment. "We only ever get to talk around other people. I want to get to know the real you."

Emma nodded slowly, looking down at the ground. "Well… I don't know. I don't like being treated like an experiment or something," she said. She looked over at her. She did think that Liz was an alright girl, but she didn't want to just be friends because it was interesting to see what the weird girl was like. Everything felt so disingenuine that way.

Liz frowned at her. "An experiment?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

Wasn't it obvious? This was the whole ass reason Liz wanted to spend time with her, and Emma had to spell it out anyway, as if it didn't already suck that a really nice girl didn't actually want anything to do with her. "You just want to get to know me because I'm the weird girl," she said, shrugging like it didn't matter. She scuffed her shoe against the ground, wishing that the reaping would just get started. Anything to pull her away from this awkward as hell conversation.

Luckily, the escort did hop up to the stage at that point and start introducing the mayor, but Liz was still speaking quietly underneath all of that noise.

"No, Emma, I really mean it," she said, looking at her. "I just want to get to know you. I really… I really like you."

The mayor was reading the Treaty of Treason now, but Emma's cogs were turning as she tried to process that. It probably seemed like she was ignoring Liz, but she just didn't understand. Liz liked her? She knew James had been trying to get her to talk to Liz before, and that he was hoping the two would click enough to date, but she hadn't ever thought that that could happen. She hadn't ever thought that it would go further than her crush. If she had one on Liz.

"That would be cool," she finally whispered, and tuned everything out after Liz smiled and nodded.

She had almost ruined this by thinking that she'd automatically ruin it. Maybe James was right about some of these things. Maybe she needed to open up more often, so it would be less awkward when she did. So she would have more people to go to when she wanted to.

Alvius Arnet, the oldest escort in all the districts, took over the heart of the stage again after the mayor was done speaking. Emma couldn't stop thinking about how that _was_ awful to ask at a reaping, but how she also really never got out, if Liz had to resort to asking her out at something like this. Alvius started speaking with all their Capitolite flair, which only made Games season feel all the more real—and made it seem all the more strange that this was the start of her dating Liz, too. Alvius was a harbinger of death, an omen for two tributes in Ten disappearing to the gory murders of the Games. Her hands were often shaky at the reaping, but out of _fear_ , not because she'd just been asked out. Not because a very pretty girl liked her and was still standing right next to her.

"Boys first," Alvius said, motioning over to the boy, and Emma's feelings for Liz dissipated in an instant. All she could think now was James's name in that bowl. She felt Liz taking her hand, but even that wasn't shocking enough to get rid of the fear. She wondered if Liz had a brother to be worried about too, though. She squeezed the girl's hand tightly, feeling like the knot in her stomach was going to make her sick. "James Locke!"

His name brought her back to every single time they'd stayed up all night talking, all the times they played the dumb games they made up as kids, all the times they had argued, all the dinners and birthdays and _everything_ they shared.

James Locke. Her brother. Her best friend.

He walked up to the stage slowly, and she could only see part of his face because he was tilted away from the crowd. Probably trying not to cry. He was so bad at that when he was really upset. She knew exactly how he was feeling inside from morbid conversations they had had about what they would do if they were reaped, and that was so much worse. She knew what was running through his head. He was scared. He was probably wondering how quickly he would die now. He was starting the countdown.

There was nothing she could do.

Alvius drew the next name, someone from a town far on the outskirts of District Ten. The girl seemed just as strong as Emma was, so obviously from a working family, but she came from the eighteens section. She walked up and stood next to James. This girl was going into the Games with James, someone who didn't know him. Someone who didn't know what he was like when he got upset. Someone who didn't know how to make him feel better when he was really down. Someone who didn't know how absolutely, insufferably annoying he could be when he was in one of his really bouncy moods. Someone who wasn't his sister, who couldn't punch him in the arm and tell him to shut the fuck up.

"I volunteer," she said, pulling her hand out of Liz's. She walked into the aisle, letting the people move out of her way, and started toward the stairs. "I volunteer," she repeated, louder, as Alvius and the reaped girl looked down at her in confusion. She couldn't look at James's face yet. She knew he'd be furious. She replaced the other girl on the stage, and Alvius stumbled for a moment. District Ten was one of the outer districts who got the most volunteers, with rumors of some people training to bring wealth to their families, but she didn't look like a trained tribute. She was younger than the reaped, and she was sure she seemed fucking terrified, but she couldn't quite connect herself with her own facial expressions at the moment.

"All right, who are you, darling?" Alvius asked, holding their hand out toward the microphone for her to step forward and announce herself.

"Emma Locke," she said quietly, but it still boomed around the square with the speakers everywhere.

"Oh. _Oh._ " Alvius looked between James and Emma, seeing their resemblance now that they'd heard the same surname. "Well, that's certainly interesting."

They were made to shake hands and pushed into the Justice Building. She felt like she was being swarmed the moment they were away from the cameras. James snapped at her, "What the _hell?_ " at the same time as the mentor, Marion Dall, coming over to them and grabbing her by the arm to pull her away from the Peacekeepers leading her away. The Peacekeepers looked at each other, but let it happen. Maybe this was something Marion Dall did a lot.

"What is this about?" she said, looking at Emma and then over at where James was still standing. "What, you wanna kill your brother or something? Can't you just be satisfied by the reaping doing that?"

The words slammed into her and she shook her head, turning herself away from Marion. She was shutting down, and the only thing she could hear was that the reaping had killed James. That she had let it kill her too. All she could think was that her parents only had two children, and now they were both entering the same Games together, in a Quell where they weren't explicitly partnered. What had she just done?

"No, I— I wanted to protect him," she said quietly to Marion, but she didn't want to know what their mentor had to say about that. She slipped away quickly, back over to the Peacekeepers, and she couldn't believe that two fully-armored, foreboding Peacekeepers tasked with making sure she got to the Capitol for the _Hunger Games_ made her feel safe. She swallowed down the fear and kept moving forward, not looking at James. Soon her brother and the Peacekeepers were walking behind her again, and they were led over to an elevator.

Upstairs, the Peacekeepers asked them if they wanted separate rooms for goodbyes. She shook her head, not caring what James thought about it. She didn't want him to be so angry that he'd take the last time their parents may be able to hug both of them away. He seemed livid, though, his brows furrowed and his brief gazes over at her biting. Maybe he was even angrier than he was scared, and that was a good thing. Fear would get him killed. If he could just get pissed at Emma, maybe they'd hold their own and win.

Her parents rushed in before James could get an answer out of her, her lips sealed to keep the answers in. She didn't know exactly why she'd done it, but if she told him it was to protect him, he would just get sick with guilt. He obviously knew that that was why, but she couldn't tell him the truth until later, when they would have time on the train for his guilt.

"Why?" Dad asked after the four of them had hugged, his hand in her hair. She felt her lip wobble and she just shrugged. She didn't have the words right now.

She would be hearing that broken _Why?_ until she died, however soon that was.

* * *

 **hello oh yes. some notes: i just combined them since they're so close so it felt silly and counterproductive to stretch myself thin trying to think up 2 chapters that are worth being 2 chapters.**

 **also thank you for 100 reviews! it's really. just really long intros. but i am still very grateful.**

 **thirdly! i thought i'd note i changed kubya's name bc i didn't originally know his surname when my buddy submitted him so i just chose one, but his surname is important to his heritage so once i knew it i changed it in chapter & on my profile! so it is kaczka now as it always should have been. **

**fourthly i forgot to say this last chapter bc i just wanted to stop writing on my phone: kyle's accent in my head is specifically american southern gentleman (like outdated southern drawl kinda accent), which makes NO sense bc d9 is sorta in canada region, but... he just feels southern to me**

 **chapter question: which twin do you like better?**


	23. Righteous: District Eleven

what did a little rage ever hurt?  
i think you're painting it in a bad light;  
you're thinking of yelling, screaming, no-good anger,  
throwing shit with no real direction.  
what did a little righteous fury ever do to you?

* * *

 **Icho Griffith (16)**

 _ **District Eleven**_

 **three years ago**

Icho's walks through the district were usually pretty quiet and uneventful. He never got far. He knew that his parents would be calling him back soon after he left every time, so it was pointless to really go beyond the town. It was only recently that they let him start going off on his own, without any adults with him or any friends accompanying. They were kind of stiflingly overprotective, but he guessed that was what he got for being born into the mayor's family. Oh well, if only he had just had a chat with destiny before being born about his free-spirited nature, maybe his parents would've mellowed out. Really, it was all his fault.

Sometimes when he walked through the streets, he saw the kind of people who huddled in sketchy alleyways, but his parents had always told him to walk past them. That some of them—not all, but some—were dangerous, and could hurt Icho if they really wanted to. So when he saw them curled in on themselves, some with their hands in their hair and their faces buried into their knees, some with their faces turned upward toward the sky, some with their eyes hollow and endless—when he saw them, he looked the other way and marched forward.

This was the nicer end of town. On the west side of the square, where everyone was peaceful and happy, and the dangerous, scary homeless were few and far in between.

But today, Icho's parents were out. He wasn't supposed to go on walks when they were out, especially not in the summer when he had no schedule and could wander for as long and as far as he wanted, but he couldn't help himself. The opportunity presented itself in the form of the spare key hanging on the hook, just begging him to put it in his pocket and go on an adventure.

He wanted to stop by Lucy's house and bring her out on the walk with him, but he wasn't sure if she would snap at him for that. Plus if his parents saw him walking around with Lucy, they might get annoyed. They didn't really approve of her.

So he just went further into the town than he normally did, looking around at all of the people as they went about their business. There were so many people bringing their baskets outside of little shops, people walking in and out of the bakery, people with big bags on their back carrying things into the town for selling. He knew that some were poorer than the mayor and the mayor's family, but all of their problems were heard by his father. He knew this. He'd seen his father work. He'd seen him stay up late in his study, going through his papers, solving problems. He cared deeply, even when he couldn't fix every problem. Icho knew this.

Once he got past the square, further into the southeast end of town, he knew that he would have to turn back soon. His parents wouldn't be home to know how long he'd been gone for, but this wasn't the area he was supposed to go to. He heard that this was the dangerous end of town, although he'd been through their occasionally. He wasn't totally sheltered. Plus, the school he went to was on the outer edge of the city.

He waved to the guy that his dad always bought oranges from, smiling at the old man as he went past him down the road. He was a really pleasant old guy.

It was so warm outside that day. He looked up at the sun beating down like it was going to melt him, squinting against it. It left pieces of itself stuck in his eyesight and he kept squinting around as he walked for a while because of it, the glare of sunlight clinging to him. As he turned the corner, rubbing at his eyes as the bright, glowing black spot faded, he bumped straight into someone. He stepped back, disoriented, to see who he'd just run into.

"Oh!" he said, holding his arms out, even though he wouldn't be able to help right them at this point. Or maybe at all, since they were bigger than him. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

The woman looked down at him, and Icho saw the kind of clothes she was wearing. They were all a little raggedy, and more revealing than what most people on the west side of the city wore. He swallowed back what his parents would tell him at this point, though. He had already bumped into her, so he wasn't going to just run away without apologizing.

"That's okay," she said. There was a short pause where her eyes were narrowed, which Icho didn't like at all. He wanted to run away from her, but that would probably seem pretty rude. "I think I recognize you, don't I?"

He didn't know how she would. Some people knew him as the mayor's son, but that was more people who interacted with him often enough to know his face. This woman didn't seem like she was one of the people who often spent time talking to the mayor—or had spent _any_ time, really, especially not in a situation where she would've seen Icho.

"Probably not," he said, sure she was mistaking him for someone else. He started to duck away from her, his heart racing. It felt like it was inching its way up his throat, and he really just wanted to go now.

"No, I do," she said, with a sly grin on her face when he turned around to look at her again. "You're the mayor's son."

"Oh. Maybe," he told her, because he didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to confirm it, but his tongue slipped before he could outright lie to her. He really just wanted to get back home. He just needed to get around the block and start booking it back home. Maybe his parents were right about staying in the west.

"Don't you wanna know how I know that?" she asked, and it seemed like there was a dirty little secret she wanted to share with him. Some awful piece of information she was just dying to unload on him. And—he _did_ really wanna know. That was the part that sucked about it, so he stopped against his better judgment. "Mmmm, I better not. Why don't you ask your dad about the lower town, kid?"

He stared at her for a moment, expecting her to think again and actually tell him what that meant, but she didn't. She turned around to stroll away, so he started running in the opposite direction as fast as he could. He was so scared that he stopped thinking, and forgot to turn around the block to head back home. He just kept running, ignoring weird looks from people, until he was panting and his chest burned, and he was sure that he was far, far away from that woman.

He looked around where he had ended up, seeing the people who were doing similar things on the other side of the city. He realized that _this_ was the end of town his parents really didn't want him on. He was almost outside of city limits here, where the buildings were fewer and farther in between, and everything further out was little clusters of houses, and beyond that, fields for farming for miles and miles, with little towns popping up here and there. He hadn't realized he could get here so quickly. He hadn't realized how closely he stuck to his house until now, when he saw what was out here not even an hour away.

The houses were so run-down here. No one was wearing nice clothes. Everyone looked even more ragged than the woman he'd run into, and he didn't think there was anyone in sight who had had enough food to eat lately. Gaunt faces and skin hanging off the bones of people slumped against brick walls, and— He was going to throw up. He walked as quickly as he could over behind a big abandoned building and threw up on the concrete below his feet. He didn't look at it, not wanting to throw up more, and felt disgusting all over. Like he was covered in grime. But he was pretty sure he'd seen a dead person hunched against a wall back there, just sitting against it, in the _city._ And people were walking around it as if it didn't used to be a person. There was one mother who had been shielding her child's eyes as they hurried by. Surely someone was coming to get it, but the people who couldn't avoid it until then were just… continuing on. Like this was— normal.

He couldn't connect this with his District Eleven. With the District Eleven that his father worked for. He went home quickly, feeling downright _pissed._ He felt like Lucy. He felt like raging against everyone on the street, and when he walked past someone who looked dressed up in their nice clothes on the square, someone who nearly bumped into a woman because he wasn't watching where he was going, he wanted to scream at them. He didn't even know why, because they hadn't done anything wrong, but they weren't paying attention. No one was _paying attention_ — He hadn't been paying attention, but he was thirteen. Barely thirteen. Was his father this absent-minded too? He had to be.

He got home and slammed the door behind him, staring at it like it had affronted him. And then he sagged down and walked slowly into the living room, and by the time he collapsed in the living room, he was sobbing.

* * *

 **three weeks later**

He'd asked his father about the people in the lower town, the person who was leaned against the wall, dead. When his father told him to drop it, he was so angry he left. He didn't care if his parents were scared, if they didn't know where he was. He _hoped_ that they were worried. The people of the lower town were definitely worried about starving to death, but they couldn't just call the Peacekeepers and ask them to fix that for them like his father could call the Peacekeepers to ask them to collect him.

He knew he didn't have long before someone found him. He kept his hood up, despite how hot it was outside, and snuck back down to the east end of town. He went further than that, leaving the city, and went out to the people doing chores and working outside their old, collapsing homes. He felt sick to his stomach just being there while he was well-fed and in nice clothes, seeing some of the scraps of fabric people called _clothes_ that were hanging on clothing lines.

There was one woman who was sitting in a rocking chair out of her front porch, whistling softly to herself and looking up at a tree, where a couple of hummingbirds were flitting about each other. Or maybe it was the mockingjay up in the branches that Icho just saw, eerily silent as the woman sung to it.

Icho bit his lip, unsure how to start talking to her. He whistled up to the mockingjay, and after a moment, it copied his tune. The woman looked over at him and a gentle smile crept up her face, like it was afraid of manifesting at first. "Well," she said, and her voice was so pleasant and inviting, Icho forgot his fear. "Guess it likes you better than me."

"I guess so," he said quietly. He nodded and stepped over to her, standing on the outside of her makeshift fence of falling-down scraps of wood shoved into the ground. He put a hand on one of the sturdiest posts and asked cautiously, "Do you mind if I ask something weird, ma'am?"

She looked taken aback, and it took her a few seconds to answer, but then she shook her head. "No, I suppose I don't. I'm an open book," she told him.

"Okay," he said, nodding. "I'm the mayor's son." He figured that was the best way to start it, because he was going to sound pretty ignorant here. And he didn't want to totally embarrass himself, although maybe that just made it worse. He didn't know. "And I just… I just wanted to know what it's like here. I never really leave the city."

The woman looked at him for a moment, studying him with the corner of her lips turned up and her eyes locked on him curiously. "Ah," she said, "you're a very forward boy. Okay." She looked away from him, up at the birds again, and it seemed like she was thinking. He hoped she was thinking, and not just ignoring him because the question was dumb, or something. "Well, it's much harder than what you must live like. I can't blame you for that, though. We all just… survive out here. I don't know."

That didn't exactly tell him what he wanted to know, though. He leaned forward against the sturdy fence post. "Ma'am, I— I was walking, and I saw someone was dead. And everyone was just walking around them, as if it didn't even matter," he said, his voice shaking for the briefest of moments. He had no idea if he should be saying this.

She nodded and looked down. "Yeah, that's… that happens," she said. She smiled bitterly, her eyes downcast. "I appreciate what you're doing here, love, but you should go."

He stared at her for a moment and turned away, letting out a quick, heavy breath. That was the worst. But he wanted to know more. He needed to know more.

He asked more people around the area until he saw a Peacekeeper approaching, and then he began running, hiding behind houses and hurrying back toward the city. It was easier to evade there, although he kept turning around corners and finding more Peacekeepers looking. He made it all the way home without being grabbed by one, and he burst in the door, looking for his father.

His mother came up to him when she saw him entering the house. "Icho Griffith, where have you _been_ —?"

He brushed past her and toward where his father was starting to stand up in his study. "People are _dying_ , Dad," he said, looking up at him as if he was taller. As if he was a grown man like his father was. "The Peacekeepers are brutal, _violent._ They mistreat the people. They're from Two. They think our poor are lesser than, so they don't treat them right, and you don't do a _thing._ You have dinner with Peacekeepers, Dad. While they steal children away from parents. While parents lose their children to hunger in an _agriculture_ district."

His dad looked at him with raised eyebrows, but he waited until Icho was done raving to speak. When he was finished, panting from the run, from the anger, from the speech, his father said, "That's _unfortunate,_ Icho, but—"

"Unfortunate?" he exclaimed, his voice rising up an octave in indignation. But he wasn't even embarrassed. He was too angry for that right now. "Was the person I had to step over in the alley when I was running back home _unfortunate?_ Is that all they are to you, Dad?"

His father sighed and shook his head like Icho was stupid. He wasn't stupid. "Icho, you don't understand. And I won't have you speaking back to me in my house after you gave us such a scare like that," he said. He pointed out of his study, looming over Icho like he could step on him. Infused with the power that the Capitol handed over to him in return for ignoring the plight of his people, for making his son dumb with ignorance. "Go to your room."

"I will," he snapped. "And I won't ever come back out."

He turned on his heels, ignoring his mother again, and locked his door when he was tucked away inside his unlit bedroom.

* * *

 **a month before the reaping**

Icho peeked out from around the side of the building. The Peacekeepers ran past, so he leaned back against the brick and shut his eyes, breathing in and out slowly to catch his breath. Yeah, so he was going to get his ass kicked, even if he made it back home without a Peacekeeper catching him. If he made it back home, though, the ass-kicking would be alleviated some, so that was really all he was going for.

It was the third time this month he was going to get close to a whipping again, but the Peacekeeper he'd punched had been fucking around with this young single mom, in a really gross, predatory way. He'd seen it when he was going by to visit Day in the fields, and he couldn't stand by and watch that shit happen. Maybe it was easier for him because he knew punishments were never as bad for him, with his father in the middle to lower them each time, but hell, he may as well have taken advantage of that privilege.

He jogged back home, watching as the reception of the mayor's son transformed from nonchalant to a little resentful. He remembered when he was younger, when the baker used to wave at him. Now all the high-society people—well, as high society as one gets in the districts—of Eleven hated how he stirred the pot. Which made him beyond happy, really. There was nothing he liked more than unsettling people who loved their blissful ignorance.

He stopped jogging and just started walking the rest of the distance home. His steps were light, almost bouncy even, content in the knowledge that he had made it out of this one all right, and it the Peacekeepers would be pissed yet again, not only that he challenged them but that he relatively got away with it.

And then he jerked away so harshly it felt almost like he was flying through the air, a hand on his arm and his legs collapsing out from underneath him as they failed to find the ground again. He got dragged a couple feet before his feet found traction and he started scurrying along after the unhelmeted Peacekeeper. It was Jo, one of the angriest, nastiest of them all, with a square jaw like all the big, buff fuckers in Two, and steely blue eyes that held nothing but hatred and looked for nothing but violence.

"Fuck you," he snapped at the guy, trying to get away from him. He knew he'd get roughed up before he was sent home this way, and that was how the Peacekeepers liked it. They liked when they had full autonomy over how much punishment they dished out to the problematic mayor's son, the little shit who gave them such a hard time. It was hard to be snarky when he knew how much their fists and boots hurt, when he remembered the last time he'd come home with bruises everywhere, a busted lip and bloody nose and black eye, and the one time he'd received a broken rib. Yeah, so this was actual hell on Earth, excuse him for being scared shitless.

"Might not be such a good idea to try to wiseguy your way out of this, buddy," the Peacekeeper snarled, wolflike teeth glistening at him like a taunt.

"Kinda sucks that you think 'fuck you' is really a wiseguy insult, _buddy_ ," Icho said, jerking his arm away as hard as he could. The Peacekeeper's grip faltered and Icho was free. He propelled himself forward as fast as his feet could carry him, nearly stumbling as he tried to find his rhythm as he took off.

His house wasn't far from where he'd been when Jo grabbed him, so it wasn't long until he had hopped over his fence and was safely within the boundaries of his house, where Jo would have to politely knock on the door and inform his father that Icho was due for some kind of ass-kicking. He waved at Jo with wiggly fingers and an overconfident grin that he didn't actually feel in his still-racing heart, and turned primly away to go inside.

* * *

 **so there is icho and now we only have 5 left to go! i'll have his district partner show all the reaping shit in her chapter, i just didn't think it fit and i wanted to publish this tonight so i can hopefully start emerson if i have time tomorrow**

 **i really enjoyed this tho, i feel like i didn't get across everything about him i wanted to, like i feel like i only really portrayed his excessively good side here, but that was just the nature of the 3 scenes i wanted to write with him, but i'm excited to write such a cocky fuck-you character going into the capitol for the games**

 **anyway chapter question: what would be your big fuck you to the capitol if you could give one to them?**


	24. Whisper of a Thing: District Eleven

a quiet little  
cool-headed, warm-hearted  
whisper of a thing

* * *

 **Emerson Thierry (12)**

 _ **District Eleven**_

The morning of the reaping was surprisingly chilly. Emerson never wore jackets to reapings before, because it was usually sunshiney and warm this time of the year. She hadn't wanted to wear one this year. It was her first year in the ropes—what they called those of reaping age in Eleven—and she didn't want to be in a jacket. She didn't know why. Maybe she was just being irrational because she was walking to the square for her first reaping.

Mom stood at her side as she always did during the reaping years, this close to snatching her hand up. Emerson wouldn't blame her, and she didn't think she'd pull her hand away, so maybe Mom just thought she was old enough to be embarrassed by it. But she wasn't old enough not to be scared anymore.

She wished it wasn't always so silent on the way to the square. Before, it was a little bit easier, but it was still so solemn. They would walk along in silence for all the people of age who were so scared they couldn't think of conversation. Now, their silence was an indication of their own fear, and Emerson didn't like sitting in it, sticky like glue.

She looked down at the ground and watched her feet hit the concrete for each step that they moved forward. She stepped down harder than normal so she could hear the slaps, wanting to distract herself with something. After a moment of this, her mom threw her a look, and she let out a breath and quieted down. Immediately Mom looked guilty, but Emerson didn't know how to tell her she didn't care.

It seemed like everything for the past couple of days just sent Mom and Dad into hysterics. Every little thing that seemed to upset Emerson was a big deal to them anymore, like they had to keep her happy as they led up to the reaping. It didn't make sense, and it was really stifling, and it only reminded her more of what was coming up. She knew that they were just trying their best, and she wasn't going to ask them to stop, but she couldn't wait to breathe in free air again.

"Sonny," Mom said, and Emerson looked up to see that the square was now in sight. She hadn't realized how close they were to being there. The entire walk there, it was like they were hundreds of miles away, and it would be forever before they finally arrived. But now they were close, and Mom and Dad were stopping, looking down at her. Mom put her hands on Emerson's shoulders, and she knew exactly what this meant without having to hear it said. Mom loved her, be brave, the prick at registration doesn't hurt that much, be a good girl.

Emerson had to blink and looked up at the cloudy sky for a moment to keep herself from crying. She didn't want to walk up to all the others just this year in the ropes, the ones who were dealing better, or at least quieter, with tears streaming down her face. She was going to be strong, okay, she was going to be strong.

"Love you, honey," Dad said, a sad smile on his face. When Mom stepped away, he moved forward and put a hand on the side of her face. He watched her for a second, and she wished she could smile back, but she couldn't. "Okay, go on."

She nodded slowly and turned around, walking over to the lines. There was a much-older boy in front of her, towering over her in height, and for some reason she was even more overwhelmed by him. She started wringing her hands together in front of her and looking around, hoping to find someone she knew among all the other kids— _hopefully_ Odessa, and she and her best friend could be terrified to death together.

She turned to her other side to look around at the kids in the other line, and saw Odessa hurrying over to her as she did. No one minded when she cut in front of the people who had already gotten behind Emerson. There were a lot of people ignoring the rules of line-waiting in favor of being able to stand next to their friends, especially the younger ones like them.

"Emerson," she said, stress evident in her movements and voice, and Emerson swallowed. Odessa was the calm one between the two of them—not that she expected her best friend to keep her cool at the reaping, but it still didn't spell well for how Emerson was going to handle all of this. She just wanted to go home so badly it ached in her bones, like she could feel the exact way she _could_ be laying in bed on a day off with no school and no need to work the fields with her mom. A lazy day sat in her vision in some alternate universe, and she was _definitely_ jealous of whatever alternate Emerson was laying there, blissfully unaware of what this one was going through.

Odessa ended up taking Emerson's hand, and the two of them felt each other shake as they slowly moved forward in line. The process went quickly, so it was almost a continuous step forward, but there were also so many kids that they had to push through. Emerson had never noticed before how massive the square was, and how packed the square was. Outside of the ropes, her parents always held her hand so tightly she felt like her bones were going to be crushed to powder, making sure that she didn't get lost in the almost shoulder-to-shoulder packed crowd, trying to squeeze every single member of District Eleven into one large area. It was a feat that would almost be impressive for the planning it would take if it didn't go along with _this_ particular event.

"What do you think it'd be like to live on the moon?" Odessa asked eventually, which was one of their games to feel better when they were both worried about something, like a test at school. Emerson immediately relaxed, looking up at the cloudy sky and thinking. Odessa thought for just a moment, too, before slipping into her ideas. "I think the Capitol would try to make it a spectacle. Well, more than going to the moon already would be."

Emerson smiled, leaning toward Odessa a little bit with excitement as she decided she _knew_ what it would be like. "They'd turn it into Candyland or something. They'd put giant lollipops up in the ground to line the paths, and chocolate bars would float through the sky because of the no-gravity," she told Odessa, like an informed scholar.

"Is that how the gravity works there?" Odessa asked.

Emerson looked over at her and a little smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I don't know. I just know it's—" She did one big motion, dialing herself down since everyone else around them was gloomy and they had just been moments before, but she got the gist of it across to Odessa well enough.

"Stop it," her friend told her, hand over her face as she suppressed giggles.

The two of them had to look away from each other the entire way up to the front of the line, and every time they accidentally snuck a glance, they'd burst into silent giggles, faces red as they tried to stop them.

Emerson got up to the official, who took her name and blood with a little poke to her finger that felt a little bit like she'd picked up a rose by its thorns, but it didn't stay hurting for long. She pressed a cotton ball to it and walked to her section of the ropes, standing right in the front, where she nearly had to turn her neck to look up and see all the preparations they were making onstage. Odessa joined her soon, both of them soaking up the little bit of blood with a cotton ball over their still vaguely-stinging fingers. She'd seen the square afterward, when nearly everyone had left, and it was just littered with people dropping their cotton balls, and eventually someone came and swept them all up.

"Do you think everyone hates us because we were giggling at the reaping?" Emerson asked once Odessa was standing next to her, watching people bring out the reaping bowls and place them on either side of their escort.

Odessa frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. "No." She turned around, her eyes searching the people settling into place, and nodded toward a couple of people stifling laughter in the boys' section. "See, look. We're just trying to stay positive."

"And not worry ourselves to death," Emerson said. By now, if Odessa weren't with her, she would have withered away from the stress of just this one afternoon.

Emerson shrunk to half her size when the mayor stepped up to speak. She looked over and saw that Odessa had brought her arms in closer to her, and she was twisting her fingers together against her chest. Shrinking in as far down as Emerson was.

They were right up front, but no one really cared what the twelve-year-olds did. Everyone knew how scared they were, so when she shut her eyes and started breathing in slowly, she was sure no one around them cared.

She was in the orchards now, running through with Odessa, and neither of them were supposed to be there. They were looking around to make sure no one would find them, giggling as they went to the best climbing tree. Neither of them worked there, but a lot of kids snuck in to Mr. Graye's orchard for climbing the tallest trees and snagging some of the apples. It was right next to the woods on the edge of the fence, so it wasn't difficult to slip in, although there was a lot of running and sneaking around to do in the expanse between woods and orchard. But Odessa and Emerson were small, and had only ever been caught once. Coincidentally, that was the first time they'd ever done it, and now they were back for a sneaky second go of it.

But this was only a memory, and she could only hear the whispers of what Odessa said to her. Their giggles were background noise to the mayor's voice booming all around her like a too-hot blanket she couldn't get out from underneath. She wanted to embrace the safe past, before she was ever eligible for the Games.

She only opened her eyes again when the mayor was done speaking, getting a brief glimpse of Islie Jon's entrance. She stood up, her heels clacking along the stage and her arms just slightly perched outward, like the wings of a bird seconds away from taking flight.

Emerson wished that their escort seemed a little more approachable. She tried not to judge the Capitolites because of the Games, knowing that none of them could stop them from happening, and they probably didn't know any better. When she was little, before she was ever taught otherwise, she didn't understand the Games either. If she was just taught to embrace them, like Careers or Capitolites, she was sure she would. But people like Islie Jon made that difficult. She sauntered on the stage like she was putting on a show, desperate for the spotlight she had here. And from what Emerson had seen in other Games, Islie Jon was more dramaticized than so many of the other parts of the Games. She flaunted herself, vying for attention to be taken away from the kids who needed sponsorship. She just seemed… _mean._ Emerson didn't like her.

"I've got so much _faith_ in this year," Islie said, shrill voice and bright eyes and Emerson didn't like to listen to her. She never said she had faith in District Eleven. Emerson wasn't sure if she believed that, but she'd heard someone saying so at school. That she only ever said she was excited for the Games, that she thought it would be a good Games. But she never seemed to care about Eleven. Maybe she was so focused on making a show of herself, she forgot then that she had to make a show of the Games, that she had to at least _pretend_ to care about Eleven. Emerson wished she would. She didn't like thinking that there would be tributes going into the Games with a cocky, uncaring escort, even if the mentor had always seemed warm.

Reapings had always been a whirlwind that she hadn't been fascinated in after she realized what they were for. When she was younger, it was so many people, and she knew it was bad—everyone knew from the start that it was a bad thing, a scary thing—but she had also hung onto every word of the escort, the mentor, the mayor. Everyone up on that stage felt a million miles away from her when she was first old enough to be aware, like they were in another universe she couldn't quite breach even if she wanted to. Almost like she was watching television happen in real life—which, she supposed now, she kind of was. This was being broadcast as the escort spoke about the excitement of this year. People around Panem _were_ witnessing this unfold on their screens, and she was here. But that wasn't something that made her interested anymore like it had then. It was something that just made her a little sick to her stomach.

The boy who got reaped was fifteen and looked like he spent long hours in the fields. He was tall and light-skinned, on the skinny side from hunger but with a strength to his step. Emerson always felt like she had whole portraits painted in her mind of the tributes after they were reaped, pressed into the back of her eyelids—especially after she had to watch them die. Already she could tell that this boy, Aisa Powell, was going to be in-between her blinks. Odessa inched a little closer to her, both of the anticipating the girls' reaping.

But instead of slipping into it, there was a volunteer. Emerson jerked her head over to the boys' side with all of the other surprised girls as they watched a boy step out from the section just behind Aisa Powell's—a sixteen-year-old, tall, dark reddish hair, brown skin, stepping out with purpose, even if fearful. But this wasn't frantic, the volunteering of someone who wanted to protect the reaped. She watched as he walked up toward the stage, replacing Aisa, and noticed the mayor's face as he did. Mayor Griffith looked horrified to his core, face twisted painfully and hands gripping the armrests of the chairs as if he was trying to force himself to stay in his spot.

 _Oh._ She guessed it before the boy told his name to Islie. "Icho Griffith," he said, and a murmur ran through the crowd. This was different—not only was the volunteer something _new_ , but it was the mayor's fucking son standing up on that stage. Emerson didn't like this at all. Now if he died, she would see the mayor's hollow face up on the stage every year.

"Why would he do that?" Odessa asked, her voice low and only reaching Emerson. People were starting to quiet down, as Islie moved in to talking about that "excitement!" and bounced over to the girls' bowl. "It didn't look like he knew that boy."

Emerson was glad she hadn't made that up in her head, but she still didn't know the answer. She wanted to tell Odessa to hush; it felt like speaking while everyone was getting quiet would draw attention to them. And she knew that that wasn't how a person was reaped, but… she didn't want attention to be on her. Not from _anyone_ —not the district, not the escort, not whatever god was in the sky. She just wanted to disappear until this reaping was over.

"Doesn't matter," Emerson told her, but she knew it really did. It meant something to both of them. She knew that Odessa tried not to, but she got just as upset when the Games rolled around as everyone else did, and the reasons why people were dying always _mattered._ At least with the reaping it was random. With twelve-year-olds, the randomness seemed worse, really, but with volunteers… it all seemed bad.

She watched as a name was delicately plucked out of the bowl, read over once, twice for good measure, and—

"Emerson Thi…" Emerson swallowed down her entire soul in one big gulp. The escort was sounding out her name. _Her name._ "Emerson Thierry, I believe. Emerson Thierry?"

She ran a hand down her shirt on instinct, straightening out any wrinkles before she was up on stage. She couldn't look at Odessa again, shaking hard as she walked. She thought she was going to fall as she had to lift her feet up to walk up the stairs. Why couldn't there be a girl out in the crowd who thought to volunteer for her for no reason at all? She looked up at the boy who was now her district partner, and he was maybe the only thing keeping her from crying.

They were supposed to shake hands, so he stepped toward her and held his hand out before Islie Jon had even congratulated her, or whatever she was about to say. She shook it, feeling how warm his hands were, how certain his grip was. "It's okay," he told her, with a sad smile in his light eyes.

She wasn't stupid. She knew it wasn't really okay, but some part of her was tricked into believing him.

* * *

 **this took forever it's ok we're almost done lads... 4 more left and then hopefully ill update faster bc they'll be more fun chapters. no chapter questions bc i'm sleepy**


	25. King of Diamonds: District Twelve

**BIG TRIGGER WARNING: this character was raped by an adult when he was younger. it's not really mentioned because i didn't feel like it had a meaningful & important place within the chapter, and that's not something i'm comfortable throwing in there unless i think it's important to the character's current thought process. but it is also part of his backstory, so some things that he personally glosses over in his mind might be confusing since i don't outright talk about this. what basically happened to him is going to be the first paragraph of the author's note below if you want to skip. it's not graphic at all, it's just a brief mention of one part that may be confusing without this context, but i thought i'd warn beforehand in case this is uncomfortable or upsetting to any readers**

* * *

the queen of hearts fell into the snow,  
and the jack of spades was lost in the wind,  
and the king of diamonds got torn in two,  
and both the jokers disappeared down your sleeve.  
what'll we do when all we've got left is a couple of sevens,  
and maybe an ace or two?

* * *

 **Carion Ferron Coal (18)**

 _ **District Twelve**_

 **a month ago**

Carion wouldn't say that he enjoyed screwing people over. Really, he didn't. He liked giving people what they asked for. He liked seeing their little hopeful faces twist into a grimace when they realized what they'd done. He liked handing them what they'd bargained for and watching them wish they hadn't come to him at all. Oh, you could call him sick, if you really wanted to—but it wouldn't be accurate. He was just making bargains. Making deals. Shuffling the cards of life, that's all.

He watched as a client hesitated before him, shuffling his cards again and again. Each little flick of the card, each extra little slap as they flew against each other—each one made the guy wince. He shook his head, started to back off, turned back around, and for a split second, Carion really thought the guy was going to fall to his knees and beg for it—beg for a free favor. But he knew that wasn't how Carion worked. Oh, they all knew.

This one was fun. Sometimes it took a little bit of deciding before he really took a deal to heart, before he slipped it under his belt, and other times he knew as soon as he saw the client walk in, as soon as he saw their face. Oh, yes. This one was fun.

"Coal—"

"Oh, stop it," he said, shaking his head and waving the guy off. He smiled at him pleasantly, teeth showing. "That's not my name."

"Magic Man," the guy said through gritted teeth, and Carion sat back in amusement, watched him mull over it a thousand times in three seconds. "You're just a kid. You shouldn't be doing this, you know."

"I'm no more a kid than you are," he told him. He wasn't. Hadn't been for years. He was nearly nineteen now, edging toward life outside the reaping bowl. He wasn't a kid. Hell, he wasn't a kid when he _was_ a kid. Insisting he was just wasted his time. "Listen, Snip—I'm gonna call you Snip—it's really not that bad."

"You're asking me to have my _kid_ take out extra tesserae," he snapped, and his face was beet red, his veins bulging in his forehead. He was absolutely livid, and the cracks and crevices in his face had lava flowing through them. "Not even for us. For _you._ "

Carion shook his head and pointed at him. "No, no, no," he said. "Not for me. Really. But honestly, having forty-some names in there, what does that hurt? The odds don't change all that much. Honestly, they don't." He leaned toward Snip, his eyes sympathetic. Oh, he did care about his cause, he did. He wouldn't even be lying about that. There was no way in hell his kid would survive the Hunger Games. But a deal was a deal, and he'd set his price.

"Forty-some names in the reaping bowl, so _you_ can give away my kid's tesserae, just to bring in the meds I need," Snip said, and he looked almost sick to his stomach. Carion just hoped he could make it outside if he was going to throw up.

He went back to shuffling his cards while Snip paced. He knew this made the clients antsy, but he liked them antsy. Split-second decisions were always better off for him.

Eventually, after a few minutes of silence except for the smacking of his cards and the pattering of Snip's feet, he broke down and leaned forward at his desk again. "Snip, think of it this way. The odds aren't that bad. The food's going to my clients who don't have children. And you get your meds. What's it hurt?" he said.

Snip swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and sat down at the desk with a thud. He pulled the contract that Carion had written over toward himself and grabbed the pen. Carion would have to ask Damien for another box of pens. If he was going to keep writing contracts at the rate he was lately, he was going to run out of his last two before the next couple of months were up. And even though his contracts could be in no way legally recognized, he knew it felt binding to the clients, so he'd never make a deal without one.

"What do I sign?" he asked. Carion had almost forgotten that he'd never learned how to write, that Snip was one of the ones who'd had to drop out of school when he was real young. Almost like Carion had to.

"Oh, just a scribble. On the line, if you would, please." When Snip had done so, Carion tossed the paper into his desk with his other contracts and sat back. He could tell that Snip was waiting for him to explain what was on the paper that he could hardly read, so he rambled off, "All right, so, you get the gist. I give you what you need when you give me what I ask for. You don't tell the authorities, I don't turn you in for asking me to smuggle. A deal's a deal, you signed, blah blah blah."

Snip looked like he was seconds away from throttling Carion, which was probably the most average reaction he got to his services. Customers, even when they walked out satisfied with the deal they'd gotten, were always a little pissed at him. It was the nature of the game, he supposed.

"How do I get you the grain? It comes year-round," Snip said.

Carion shrugged. "Just get me proof it's coming, and every month when it comes in, I'll send you what you need after you've sent me what I want. Agreeable?"

Snip didn't answer. He got up without a word and marched out of the room, and Carion could hear his footsteps as he traveled angrily throughout the house. The front door was slammed loud enough that he could hear it throughout, and Carion chuckled to himself.

Damien would be coming by soon enough, as Carion had instructed him to. He usually had him come by on days he had meetings with potential clients. Even when nothing panned out, he still liked to see the Peacekeeper occasionally, to make sure all of his favors were being dealt with, that the nice things he'd asked for were coming through. Managing this little business of his was like a machine, and he and Damien were the cogs in it. Well, he was more like the lever that set the whole thing running, and Damien was the gears that twisted and shifted and got everything done inside. But without Carion's abilities to set everything in motion, it would all fall apart. A machine couldn't be turned on if its lever was broken off.

Carion looked around his little house and walked into the kitchen, peering into the fridge. He was lucky to have a fridge in Twelve, but he had asked Damien for that ages ago. That one had been difficult to smuggle in, he was sure of it.

Sometimes he wondered how Damien got all the things through to Twelve, and he'd asked about a couple things, but it was easier not knowing. It was all boring, anyway, and not his part of the scheme. He didn't care, as long as Damien kept up his end of the bargain. And there was no way he wouldn't, no matter how much he despised Carion.

He'd never admit it, not ever. But Carion hoped to God he'd never have to use that video.

He went out of the house after a little while of Damien not showing up. Sometimes Peacekeeper business got in the way, and of course nothing could be helped then. The neighborhood around him was rundown and quiet, people stuck behind closed doors or off at work in the mines. Carion didn't usually play these people. They never came to him asking for help, and so he wouldn't do anything more than show their scrawny children magic tricks. He had principles. He had a _code_ —it just wasn't one that most people would agree with.

He walked along with his hands in his pockets, his card box slipped down inside. The edges were worn and falling apart, and he was pretty sure that at any moment it was going to break and he was going to have to find another replacement. The little cardboard boxes that Damien got pens in worked, but they got soggy in the rain, and then they started deteriorating into nothing. Still, it was almost like an original card box, and that was good enough. Better than getting a new deck. He rarely ever did—avoided it unless his cards were turning up missing, or they were really starting to fall apart. He liked his cards; he didn't go about just replacing them left and right.

His reputation stepped into a room before he did, or marched into an open space, so some of the people outside their houses watched him warily. When he was younger, he was pretty sure they would pity him—all scrawny and alone, that Peacekeeper watching over him because they thought he loved Carion's mother. Oh, and they thought _that_ was scandalous. The real arrangement was much, much worse, and they didn't know it, but it hung in the air. Clung to him, sticky like humid air, and people watched where he walked, knew what he could do. Or, really, what he could get done.

He nodded toward Mrs. Havens, watched as she collected up her bundle of raggedy yarn that she carried around despite all her attempts at knitting seeming to fail quickly. She called him the devil, he was pretty sure, but never to his face. It was hard to find people with that much faith in Twelve anymore, not when people died in the streets and their God watched on absentmindedly. But he guessed seeing what someone assumed was the antichrist walking the streets offering to make deals for the price of a soul would spur on anyone with the faintest touch of spirituality in their bones.

At some point, he supposed he just got tired of nodding on to people as if he cared. So he carried himself like the antichrist in need of a new bargain, head held high, cards in his pockets. His eyes and the set of his mouth, the calculated placement of every step—they knew what he was doing, just as much as any onlooker.

One day it may all come back to bite his ass, but that day, he'd just call in some of his unfilled favors.

* * *

 **present day**

Reaping days passed slow like thick syrup through a tiny little filter, the minutes seeping through one by one, stretching themselves outward ever-so-slightly. It was nearly imperceptible to the constant eye, which made Carion's gaze on the clock all the more painful. But he couldn't tear his eyes away, not when there was nothing to do. No one came to discuss deals with him on reaping morning, and there was no point in going on a walk through town when he'd just have to run home before he was even done to get a ride to the square. Damien's car would be there in four hours, in three, in two, in _one_ —

Oh, hell, any minute now, but with the passage of time designed to make him suffer, any _minute_ now felt impossible to bear. A heavy weight on his shoulders. A world to hold up in his hands.

The knock on the door set time in motion again, and he was on his feet, slipping his shoes on and leaving out the door. The Peacekeeper's car outside would be imposing to the rest of the neighborhood, but it was laughable to Carion. Dark, tinted windows, the big black body of the car, what it represented to everyone else. It was all so ridiculous. It all meant absolutely nothing, when really, Carion had Damien wrapped around his finger. He had one of District Twelve's nightmares, a menace from Two, doing whatever _Carion_ wanted.

"Did you get a shipment today?"Carion asked as she shut the door behind him, following Damien out to his car. He slipped into the passenger's seat and felt the rumble of the engine as they passed through the run-down paths that passed for roads in this area. "I thought you said something was coming in from Three this week."

Damien nodded wordlessly, as he always did anymore. It seemed he used as few words as possible with him, which wasn't ideal when Carion was trying to determine the status of his favors with him.

"What was it?" Carion prompted.

"Medicine," Damien answered, turning sharply toward the square.

Carion was filled with hatred for him when he was quiet, when there was nothing to talk about. He hated him more than anything else in the world. Hell, maybe he hated other things in the world just because there was so much hatred for Damien, it seeped out and filled all other corners. He was convenient, a useful gear to keep things moving forward smoothly, but he wasn't wanted. He was necessary, and Carion was smarter than to forego using someone so useful, but that didn't make him resent the man just as much as the man resented Carion for sticking him in this situation.

When they got to the square, Carion slipped through registration and into a spot in the back of the square. His eyes roamed over the people his age, the scrawny ones who hadn't gotten any consistent food since they were no longer at school. A lot of those people ended up coming to him, begging for help. They were the people he sent away with tesserae from those like Snip's kid, and their ends of the deal were less satisfactory than asking for the tesserae of someone's child. But he had no use for bags of shitty grain and containers of piss-poor oil, so he didn't care much if the price was comparatively miniscule.

It was easy to resent a lot of the people here, those who made everything so boring. Shaking, chattering fear ran through each person in the crowd, everyone standing deadly still and watching the stage get put together warily. It was tiring. He would be glad when he was no longer standing in the crowds of terrified people, although he guessed that next year, standing with their parents might be even worse.

Still, it would all be over eventually. It was easier to remember that when the mayor finally got up on the stage, followed quickly after by the escort, Weselle Hart. No mentors to announce, none to grimace as they were asked if they wanted to give a speech for their soon-to-be-dead tributes. Just Weselle Hart, up there with his nervous eyes and his nose turned up at everyone in the crowd.

Carion pulled out his cards and started shuffling them quietly, bored with the reaping and needing something to do with his hands.

Weselle Hart drew the ladies first, a long-standing tradition in District Twelve. Some girl by the name of Abilene Malloy walked up to the stage, and Carion was expecting someone inches off from death, or a small child—someone with no chance, really. But this girl seemed capable enough. Scrawny and weak like anyone from District Twelve, but capable, maybe.

Weselle moved onto boys after Abilene had nodded silently to the district, no comments for the crowd as usual.

"Carion Ferron Coal," Weselle called out, and Carion looked up with a split second of a frown. Oh. Well, that would be him. He let out a breath and continued shuffling his cards as he walked up to the stage. His eyes searched for Damien even as he kept his head forward, and he saw him standing off to the side, next to the stage. He looked pleased above all else, but when he saw that Carion was just… shuffling his cards, maybe that threw him off. His brows furrowed. What, did he expect Carion to cry?

"Is there anything you'd like to say, Carion?" Weselle asked, and Carion was tempted to tell him to call him Magic Man. He liked that so much more than his name, and if he had to be going off to the Games—well, he could say so later. If he just called himself the Magic Man before anyone actually knew him, they might laugh in his face.

Let them get to know why first. Let them understand he was more than his short height and his skinny arms, and the slow shuffling of his cards.

* * *

 **so basically the peacekeeper damien used to assault & rape carion when he was younger, but at one point carion used a camera he'd stolen to record the whole thing so he could use it for blackmail & now he gets whatever he wants from damien bc of this blackmail**


	26. A Little Too Quiet Now: District Twelve

**TW: minor references to suicidal thoughts & attempted rape of a minor**

* * *

the quiet gets stifling  
when you can hear every little noise  
every little whisper in the world  
the quiet's a little too loud  
doesn't fill the void

* * *

 **Abilene Malloy (16)**

 _ **District Twelve**_

 **a week ago**

Every second she was at Markus's house, cleaning up every corner of the place, Abilene remembered the lessons she'd learned from the scars racing up and down her back. She kept her head down on instinct now, even though it _hurt,_ like she was tearing the scars open again. But what was the alternative? Lose her job? Lou-Lou's face was always in the forefront of her mind when that didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Somtimes, starvation seemed like a lesser price to pay than to bow down to Markus. But that would be letting Lou-Lou down.

At least he'd stopped saying things that seemed all too flirtatious. He was still malicious, a goddamn disease creeping up into every corner of her life, but that was the only reason she still had her job, really: he didn't want people finding out that he sometimes tried to force himself on the scrawny little maid girl. Otherwise, that punch she gave him when it became too much to bear would've been the end of her.

She swept up the kitchen and cleaned down the counters after the Peacekeeper's wife's cooking mess, and when she was done, she let out a breath. The clock had told her it was time to go half an hour ago, but she wasn't totally finished. Even though she had an ounce of leverage on him, she didn't want to push her luck. And Markus was having some kind of dinner with another Peacekeeper's family that day, or something, so everything needed to be absolutely _spotless._ Like a spotless house for a fancy dinner was really a priority in the ruins of District Twelve.

She locked up the house behind her and walked away from the town, heading toward the Seam. Much of it really was in ruin, although the houses that had been there before had supposedly been so run down that it was hard to tell by lingering piles of stone and occasionally burnt _stuff_ that it wasn't just a really useless scrap pile. Not the houses that occupied the new Seam now were much better.

The worst part was going through the woods. She'd been told that there used to be a fence that cut the woods off, but some people would slip beyond it for the solitude of being out of the Capitol's view, or for finding just about anything out there to eat. The boundaries for the district had been extended in rebuilding, as there were survivors crammed into a space that was brought to rubble and unfit for living. Now houses crept out from behind trees, and the canopy in some places blocked most of the light so it seemed like early evening in the middle of the day. Her house was back on the edge, far away from the nice places like the town and the Victors' Village, and every trek home from work, she saw another person leaning up against a tree, or hidden in patches of old rubble that doubled as shelter for those who couldn't afford to put up anything more adequate.

Walks home were what stripped the life out of her. She'd been grown up for a long time, but it was when she started working two years ago that she really saw the world for what it was. When her eyes were opened to the stark contrasts between those who could live comfortably and those who could hardly hold their heads up, weak from hunger—and the even _starker_ contrast between District Twelve's average citizen and the people from the Capitol.

By the time she got home, she was bone tired and too angry to talk to anyone, but she had things to do. She checked on Tobias and Lou-Lou in their rooms to make sure they'd gotten home safe after being off all day while she was at work, and then she went to the kitchen to make sure her mother had been able to get out of bed and make supper that day. A lot of times that was questionable.

It wasn't her fault she'd gotten sick after Louisa was born, nor that it made her so weak she couldn't work anymore, but Abilene sometimes resented her anyway. Resented her for unintentionally forcing her into a life of being a mother to siblings only two and five years younger than her. Resented Lorcan for being in the mines, where he worked an awful job at worse hours than she did, but at least he didn't have to take care of an entire family.

No, she didn't mean that one. She didn't even really mean it about her mother, although she did a little bit, but that wasn't really fair. Her father was never home either, always off in the mines, so the only difference was that her mother's inability to contribute to the house didn't bring money home, and her dad's absence did.

She was just angry that day. She shouldn't be taking it out on her family, even if they weren't there for her to be directly angry at.

There was some bread and cheese leftover from dinner, and the remnants of a mess from her mother making it from the tesserae Abilene took out. She must have made it much earlier in the day, but wasn't able to clean it up entirely.

Tobias came into the room after a minute, going to the sink and grabbing one of their ragged pieces of cloth that worked as their dishcloths. "I'll clean it up," he told her. "I meant to earlier, but—"

She shook her head, not wanting to hear excuses. She wasn't mad at him, just mad at the world, and she hated it when her siblings thought they had to make excuses to her so she didn't explode. She hated it when the tears at her seams became evident. "It's okay," she said. "I wouldn't even have minded."

He paused for a minute, like he was making sure she was being honest, and then nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. He started wiping down the table pushed against the wall that they called a countertop as Abilene tore off a chunk of bread and pulled the cheese out of their makeshift fridge, which wasn't more than a big cooler that they put in the back of the kitchen where it would at least always be cool and kept out of the light, but they didn't have anywhere to make ice for it so nothing stayed for very long.

"How was Lou-Lou today?" Abilene asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.

Tobias threw her a glance that made her chest feel tight.

"What did she do?" she asked, turning toward him. She needed to know, she needed to keep up with them. But he seemed like he wasn't willing to say. It couldn't be that bad; Louisa was the smartest person in the family, and she was well-behaved.

"Nothing bad," he reassured her quickly, waving her off, and she felt the pressure on her shoulders compressing her into one tiny little package dissipating slightly. "She just— Well, I guess her friends were all pressuring her to go through the rubble, up by the Dead Meadow."

The Dead Meadow was the place of impact in the Seam, where it seemed that the area had just been eviscerated, scooped up and swept away, and all that was left was soot and a place where grass wouldn't grow anymore. No one really went there, and when there was once a half-ass cleanup effort, a lot of the shit just got piled up there. So most of it was just barren and depressing, except the huge pile of scraps of wood and metal, broken glass, everything that kids shouldn't play around but always did given the opportunity.

Abilene nodded, letting the idea of little Louisa playing with all that sharp metal and broken glass as if she didn't know better, and her mouth was set in a line. She hated it, though, hated it the moment she could feel it, because she knew the exact look. Her mother used to make it all the time, when she was still too little to be the mom, when Lorcan may as well have been their second parent before he slipped off into the mines. God, she didn't hate her mom, of course not. She loved her mom to death. She did. But she didn't want to be making her faces, pursing her lips and setting her brow so it was raised disappointedly. She didn't want to be the one considering how she should talk to Lou-Lou about fucking up by going to the Dead Meadow. She just didn't want to, she didn't want to, and it was such a bad day that all she could think of was the didn't want tos, and the tired ofs, and the wishes that never came true.

"Well, she knows better," she breathed out, and took another bite of her supper.

Tobias nodded. "You're not— I mean, there's no point talking to her about it," he pointed out. It was all about no points with him. No point in talking to Lou-Lou, no point in trying at school when he was just gonna end up in the mines. He was only fourteen, so he didn't get how no points one day turned into a reality, where you survived day in and day out but didn't live, and sometimes the thought, _There's no point in this_ , crossed your mind, and it fucking terrified you. He didn't get it yet, and she wished she could tell him before it was too late, since no one ever bothered to tell her.

"I want Lorcan to get home," she said quietly, and took her handful of bread and cheese into her room.

* * *

She caught up to Elise on the way to work the next morning, the two of them walking down the path to the Peacekeeper district early as always. Sometimes the only time the two of them found relief in the day was walking down together to go clean their Peacekeeper's house.

"Abi," Elise greeted her with a smile as they started going in stride together. She smiled back and pushed aside the thought that Elise maybe had a crush on her. She was too tired after not sleeping well that night to really sit on that one this morning. Ever since she'd started to get that idea from Elise, she'd been avoiding thinking about it, afraid that she would have a crush back on her. She'd only mess it all up by overthinking, by stressing out, by not wanting to get too close to her. "Oh," Elise added when she saw Abilene's hollow greeting smile. "What's wrong?"

Abilene shook her head. "It was just a rough night," she said. "I'm tired."

She paused for a moment,not quite believing her. It wasn't like they weren't always tired, but Abilene was still usually in a better mood. But then she nodded, letting it go.

They walked a few moments in silence before Abilene said, "I haven't seen Henri in over a week."

Elise looked at her, unsure how to respond to that. She knew that Henri was Abilene's best friend, but she didn't know the guy personally. He was part of a life that Abilene didn't let overlap with her work. Nothing about her family or her friends overlapped with work—she couldn't afford that.

"It's just weird," she said, hanging her head and walking a little further again. Elise was softer, sweeter than Abilene—kinder than she could ever be, despite all the same weight on her shoulders. A smaller family, maybe, but the same pressures of work and life and poverty. Elise was good and strong, and sometimes maybe she was a little too strong. Her edges weren't ground down into points, and sometimes she didn't know how to react to Abilene being angry and hardened.

The day was the same as any other day. She hid away from the Peacekeeper and his family, milling around the house as she cleaned and cooked for them, and every minute she thought about going home. Not even to see her family. She wanted to—of course she wanted to—but it was always the same. Hungry bellies, sad eyes, problems with no solutions.

She wanted to see Henri. Maybe she'd go to his house tonight, see if he was free. He would be, if he was home.

She was so tired. She was so, so tired. She couldn't remember when that became such a pervasive thought. She'd always wanted to go back to bed as soon as she woke up in the morning, but it was more than that. It was a weight dragging her shoulders down until she felt like she was slumping to the floor. It was bags under her eyes so heavy she felt her whole face sag.

When she left work that day, she stumbled outside on a branch as she walked through the wooded area toward Henri's, and for a moment she didn't know if she'd ever get back up. She didn't feel weak or sick. She didn't feel any more hurt than an average scrape on her knees and prickle on her hands. But she didn't know if there was anything out there to tug her back to her feet. She laid there and peeked up at the sky through little clear spots in the canopy.

Eventually she was on her feet again, and the time in between there was kind of fuzzy to her. She was sleepy as well as tired, and felt her eyes blinking closed slower and slower as she searched for a sign of the stars through the leaves.

And then she was walking to Henri's house again, and felt her heart start to rise off the ground a little bit as she saw him sitting out on the porch.

"Abi," he said, scooting over on his rickety wooden steps that were practically mashed into a tree. If it ever toppled over, it would crush his house, and probably the neighbor's too. She slipped into the spot next to him and leaned into him like he was the only thing that could hold her up.

Neither of them felt anything romantic for each other. Never, not even a little bit. But there was no one she could curl up next to like Henri. There was no one she could pour her heart out to like Henri.

"I've been so busy," she started off, like they were finishing a conversation they'd just had a few moments before. Slipping back into it like everything was easy. Like she hadn't just been glued to the ground for no reason at all, wondering if she'd ever leave.

"Who isn't?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her.

"Never see Lorcan anymore," she told him, yawning. She could fall asleep here, in his arms. It was the safest place in the world, simply because nothing else existed when they found time to see each other. "Or you."

He nodded and leaned his cheek into her hair on top of her head, fitting in like puzzle pieces. Sometimes she wondered how her mother and father found romantic love together, if she ever would in this shitty world. And other times it didn't feel like it mattered so much. She was pretty sure if she and Henri never managed to go off and fall in love with someone else, they'd just keep fitting together like puzzles for the rest of their lives. Not in love, but loving each other so deeply that they couldn't be pulled apart.

"One of these days it'll get better," he promised her, like he could really know. "It has to."

"Or worse," she pointed out.

He shook his head, and he could feel the smile against her hair. "It doesn't go from bad to worse."

"Then I guess we're lucky, aren't we?" she said, twisting enough to look up at his face.

He smiled at her, like she'd said something funny. She guessed she had to mean it a little jokingly, to look at all of this and call them all lucky. Or maybe he just really believed that they were, that this was all something salvageable, something to grow off of. And maybe it wasn't a laughing smile at all. She didn't know. She didn't understand every little think Henri did, she guessed.

She nuzzled her face into Henri's neck, her eyes squeezed shut.

* * *

 **sorry for the long wait! i've been super busy lately but i'm still here and working on finishing these intros!**


	27. Erosion: District Thirteen

we figure it all out  
the ins and outs of life and death  
the nitty gritties in between  
we figure it all out  
carve a path out of eroding stone

* * *

 **Rachel Powers (15)**

 _ **District Thirteen**_

Rachel knew what reapings were like. She'd been to fourteen of them before. Now this was her fifteenth, the fourth one in which her life was in danger, and she was another row back from where she was last year. She remembered where she stood last year, too. Right near the back of the fourteens—yeah, right there, she could lean forward and let her toes touch the edge of where she was last year if she wanted to. But she didn't think the fourteen-year-olds in front of her would appreciate that much.

Mark wasn't there yet. Not many were. It was pretty crowded despite that. It was like that, shoving an entire district worth of people into one little space, one little square. And Thirteen was small, too. In fact, it was one of the smallest districts, behind war-torn and already-tiny District Twelve.

Someone bumped into her as they went past and for a moment she felt their hand on her shoulder as they went past, and she tensed up. What made people think it was okay to just randomly touch people they didn't know? Why couldn't they just slide past like she did? She hated it. She hated it! Strangers touching her felt like worms were writhing on her where their skin contacted her, like her skin was being pulled taut to make for a more suitable dance floor for them.

"Sorry!" they said to her, from somewhere behind, and she nodded but didn't turn around to acknowledge it anymore. She just wanted Mark nearby. People seemed to give her just a little bit wider of a radius with him, maybe because it was two people to bump into, and that was infinitely worse than only one person to bump into.

"It's okay," she whispered, looking down at the cobbled street beneath her feet.

* * *

 **three years ago**

Rachel was the only person in school who ever raised a hand in history class. That was what her history teacher said, and he seemed irritated. At first that really bothered her, and made her want to leave the classroom so she didn't have to be in the room while he was upset with her, but then she figured out that he gave her a reassuring nod. One directed at her, not the rest of the class. So he was annoyed that the entire rest of the school would _not_ raise their hands during history lectures, mostly because they wouldn't do reading.

She didn't quite understand that either. So she guessed she didn't blame him for getting angry. It wasn't like it was all that hard to raise a hand as long as you read the reading, but she heard a lot of people complaining that they didn't have time for readings for history, of all classes.

She liked the science they had her doing. She was going down the physics and nuclear chemistry path rather than being taken into the medical track, and she was really glad for it. She enjoyed the basic readings they were doing and was excited to go further. But what she _loved_ was knowing about history. She didn't even think she was all that good at all the inferences and analysis that her teacher rambled on about, and that was very occasionally on assignments. She just liked knowing these things.

At lunch, Mark would always let her talk about what she'd learned recently. Mostly she told him all the facts she knew about whatever Games she'd just read up on. She hated watching them. They were so bloody and terrible, and she didn't cry, but a lot of other people did cry about them. So she knew that they were sad and caused _grief_ and stuff. So she didn't like that part most of all, except maybe the gore was actually a little worse. But reading up on them was fascinating. Especially the ones before the Second Rebellion, although there was never enough information on the most interesting one of all—the one with the girl and the boy who sparked the whole rebellion thing.

"Miss Powers," her history teacher said at the end of quiet study period in history class. She looked up, staring just above his head. That was her trick to avoiding people yelling at her about never looking them in the eyes. Except she was pretty sure the people who talked to her a lot had it figured out, but teachers never commented on it. "Would you come up to my desk?"

She paused for a moment, but was jarred into motion when the blip over the intercoms indicated it was time to go to the next class. She gathered her books up, closing the reading she was doing for Mr. Bak, and went over to him. Her books were all in a pile in her arms, like she was carrying an armful of dirty clothes or something.

"Miss Powers," Mr. Bak said, looking down at the papers spread out across his desk—worksheets they'd done as homework.

It was all easy, about the power and progress of the Capitol, the purpose of the districts. That was all they'd ever learned in history class. Occasionally they delved into life before Panem, stuff like that, but mostly that was all for the cause of explaining how Panem came to be. The disasters and chaos that led to Panem made her heart ache in a way she couldn't explain, in a way she was pretty sure other people felt more often. To her, those things felt like the destruction of what could have been. Maybe the destruction of a world without the grief of the Games. She wished they'd just talk about more of them.

"Your work in this class has me believing that you've been reading up on things I haven't assigned," he said, and his voice was so neutral that Rachel couldn't tell if he was angry or not. But maybe he was. The more she thought about it, in just a second, she felt like he definitely was. She hated it when people were angry with her, and she never knew how to react to it. "What are you interested in, Rachel?"

Rachel started drumming her fingers on her leg, a quick but not very rhythmic pattern. Her fingers were flying, like she was playing an instrument, but really poorly. "The Games," she said, wondering what her punishment would be if she was in trouble. "What the victors did."

Mr. Bak nodded slowly, processing that. "That makes sense," he said. "You always answer those questions."

She nodded. What was he getting at? She was antsy to know, and she came close to blurting out that she wanted him to hurry up with this already.

"Miss Powers," he continued, shifting in his seat. He ran his hand over his face, over the scruff on his cheeks. That was a thinking motion. "I think you can do more than what we assign here. Your other teachers and I have been discussing your potential with the board, and we all agree you're ready for an advanced track."

She was relieved and let out a breath that had been caught in her chest. She hadn't wanted trouble, but this was potentially the opposite of trouble. But this didn't quite make sense—why was a history teacher talking to her about an advanced track? She didn't know everything that those who did advanced tracks went into, but she was pretty sure there was nothing in Thirteen that would warrant an advanced track in history. Even history teachers didn't get advanced tracks for the subject.

"What kind of advanced track?" she asked. "Would I be working extra with you?"

Mr. Bak shook his head. "Oh, no," he said, smiling. "No, we don't have advanced history in Thirteen yet. At least not in this area, as far as I'm aware. No, they want you to go into science."

"So why are you telling me?" she asked. She couldn't be excited about this until she understood the situation. It didn't make sense to be eager for the extra work that would keep her busy if there was some kind of catch. Which maybe there was. But why would they have Mr. Bak tell her, just because there was a catch?

"Oh, just because you have lunch next," he said. And that made all of her fretting feel ridiculous. It was just out of convenience. Well, if people were doing things just out of convenience, they should let her know beforehand. She was tired of searching for the meaning that was apparently behind every person's actions, only to find out there was nothing there but a need for _convenience._ "They want you to go speak to Mrs. Doasa and I was informed you don't have any classes, so your science teacher asked me to let you know to go down to her classroom. I thought I'd give you all the news before you head down so you don't think you're in trouble."

"Oh," she said. She nodded and felt a little bit of excitement rush through her chest. She wanted the more advanced material that this would give her. It would be more to do than just to search for more information on the Games. She didn't like any of the work she had now. It was all just to keep her busy with the barebones of any subject, and didn't let her scratch at more than the surface of anything. "Thank you, Mr. Bak."

She left the classroom and went toward the science wing of the building where Mrs. Doasa's classroom was. She wouldn't be at lunch with Mark, which sucked. That was the only time of the day where she sat back and relaxed. There were other people around them in the cafeteria, but she didn't have to talk to them, and they were too busy with their food and conversations to talk to her. She knew some of them only talked to her in their classes because they thought it was funny the way she didn't know how to respond to them sometimes. Mark had told her so, in the nicest way he could. She was glad he did. It was way better to know she was being mocked so she could avoid it than for her to obliviously play into their jokes about her. But it put her more on edge than ever, so she was held taut like a bowstring until she could finally release in the comfortable silence of Mark's presence.

He didn't even mind it when she wanted to ramble to him, either. And that meant a lot.

So as excited as she was, she hoped that this talk with Mrs. Doasa didn't take long.

* * *

 **present day**

"Rachel Powers," Maea Frielan called into the crowd, and Rachel froze with Mark next her.

All the reapings that Rachel had seen played before her, a montage of girls with various reactions going up to the stage. But all of them, going up to the stage. Some with tears and some with stoic faces and some hyperventilating. Some stumbling and some of them walking with heads held high.

But hundreds of girls walked up to the stage, and that was what she was supposed to do.

* * *

 **three years ago**

Mrs. Doasa didn't take so long that she had to skip lunch, so she was able to slip into the cafeteria and slide in next to Mark. She didn't go through the lunch line since she was late, and she wasn't that hungry anyway. She wanted to talk to Mark about what she'd been signed up for. About how the rest of her life was more certain now.

"Oh, where were you?" Mark asked as she sat down.

Rachel drummed at the table, her chest overflowing with anticipation. She would start having extra materials next week, which seemed like ages away now. "They want me to go into nuclear physics next year," she said, "because the board at the school wants me to be a scientist. On the advanced track."

Mark didn't smile with excitement, which made her worry that he was upset for some reason. Jealous, maybe? But he didn't usually get upset with her about anything like this, anything that she had and he didn't. He was always happy for her.

"That's really cool," he told her, and it sounded like he meant it. So she was relieved. She felt her shoulders droop from where they'd been tensed, and she hadn't realized until then how badly she wanted Mark to share her excitement. This _was_ a really cool thing. She was going to be a scientist. With help from the district! That would make it nearly impossible to fail, or for something to go wrong with her studies. Unless out of nowhere she just lost interest and started being a bad student. And she couldn't exactly see that happening.

"I like science," she said, more to get it out there than to say it to Mark. "I'm going to be able to work with science forever now."

Her life felt like a course that she could see the end of now, rather than something windy with fog up ahead of her, preventing her from seeing anything she needed to. It made her feel at peace.

* * *

 **jsdklf it's been a while i am,.. sorry i have been Very busy i'm applying for colleges and fafsa and got friends and bf life is very happenin right now fellas. also sorry this one's short i'm just ready for reapings to be over and wanted to post a chapter to make it quite clear i haven't disappeared!**


	28. Stained Glass: District Thirteen

half the universe cracked  
like a big canyon  
and the narrow little bridge connecting  
is made out of stained glass

* * *

 **Ezekiel Avira (17)**

 _ **District Thirteen**_

Zeke wondered how often the people of District Thirteen were underground. His shift at the mine was just getting over, barely in time for him to run home and get dressed for the reaping. When he made it across town, he'd have to go through the elevator to his parents' apartment in the Underground, where a lot of people continued to live even after the people of Thirteen came out of hiding following the failure of the Second Rebellion. Then he'd hurry over to the Station with his family, where an underground train would whisk them to the square, the only time he'd be spending a significant amount of time in fresh air during the day. It would be depressing if he wasn't used to it. Except that really made things a little more depressing than they already were.

Well, it would if he had a little more time to care.

They reached the surface of District Thirteen and collectively everyone from his shift inhaled. One of the guys who worked alongside him, Bryan Eker, patted his back on the way out of the elevator. "See you at the reaping," he said, and the two of them parted ways. Bryan was eighteen, on the verge of leaving the fear of the Games behind as the youngest in his family. He wondered if the last reaping was the worst or the best. He'd probably make it the worst for himself. He _could_ think, _I haven't been reaped yet, so why will my last one be any different?_ Or, more accurately, he could think, _Well, time for it to finally happen._ He hoped Bryan was thinking like the former.

Everyone going his direction had their heads hanging low, hands in jean pockets and eyes never leaving the pathway in front of them. Zeke only glanced up occasionally to see how close he was to his house, and wave noncommittally at some of the people he knew better from always walking the same direction after work.

And then he was shooting down the elevator, back below the Earth. Dirt and metal and concrete were layered on top of him as he was sucked back down to the depths of the district. He wished that there was at least better ventilation. Would make him feel less like everything was _stale._

Mom and Dad were already ready to go on the couch when Zeke walked inside, and he could hear the bathroom door shut in the hallway. So Amorie had probably just woken up.

He was dusty and dirty from work, but there wasn't much time before they had to be off, so there was no use in showering. He'd wipe himself down and get changed and that'd be good enough. There were first impressions to be made by tributes and all, but the odds of him getting reaped were low enough that it wasn't worth risking him being late for a shower.

"Honey, don't forget your hearing aid," Mom said as he went to his room to grab his reaping clothes. He waved her off like he always did—even little Amorie made a habit of never letting their mom fuss over them too much—but he was grateful for the reminder. He could risk not showering before the reaping, but there was no way in hell he was risking going off to the Hunger Games without a way of hearing out of his left ear.

After Amorie left the bathroom, Zeke slipped in, cleaning himself off and changing his clothes. He put his hearing aid in and went out to the living room where everyone was waiting. Amorie hopped out from behind the couch when he came in to rush over and give him a hug. He opened his mouth to ask what she'd been doing back there, but just shook his head and wrapped his arms around his little sister. There were some things he just let go, and his parents followed suit. She was always getting into something, but most of the time it was just as easy to let her have her fun.

* * *

 **three years ago**

Zeke had been babysitting Amorie every day after school for three weeks now. At this point, he didn't believe Mom when she said that they'd find another solution to watching her soon. It wasn't like he couldn't do it anyway. He enjoyed Amorie and kept her entertained, and he wasn't old enough for a job on his own yet. So it was okay, as much as he wanted to spend time with friends after school instead of rushing home to get her from Mr. Delfi before he went to work.

She ran over to him on her stubby little four-year-old legs and collapsed in his lap, leaning against him and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He smiled at her, feeling something in his heart warm up. His friends at school often complained about their siblings, so much so that when Amorie was born, he resented her in advance. And he wished he could say that that'd gone away when he realized what a cool mini person she was, but some of it lingered. It didn't seem fair that he didn't get to be a kid because he had to help her grow up. But most of that frustration was easily pushed away when he was watching her.

"Zizi," she said, her little face still lit up in a grin. He could do without the nickname, but when she first started talking, she couldn't say _Zeke._ So it came out Zizi, and that just stuck.

"Hi, Amorie," he said, returning her hug with a squeeze. She launched out of his lap when he released her, just as suddenly as she flung herself at him. They'd already said hello when he picked her up, but she always hugged him when she wanted him to play. Mom and Dad said that meant she would know exactly how to get what she wanted when she was older and could even _more_ effectively wrap them all around her finger. "How was your day with Mr. Delfi?"

She turned toward him and took a big breath with wide eyes. She was about to tell him a story, and he was prepared to be on the edge of his seat for the whole thing. "A cat— in the window— and he ran after me, and ran and ran, and I fell down," she explained, all so rapid fire that it bled together. He was good at picking up pieces of stories that she laid out for him, though.

"A cat came in the window?" he asked. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen, picking up her hand along the way to guide her in there. He was hungry, which meant it was snacktime for both of them.

The windows in the Underground apartments led out to the hallways between. In some of the nicer sections, there were common areas with special lights allowing trees and grass to grow, and that was probably where the cat came from. There were a lot of friendly strays that roamed the halls of Thirteen's Underground, surviving off the thriving rat population and scraps given to them by those who enjoyed having a pet who came and went. The common areas with trees and benches were always really warm since the artificial sunlight was on most of the day, and heated the closed-off space up a good deal, so the cats found places to curl up and nap the day away.

"His name was Atty. A-T-T-Y. 'Cause he came from an attic," she explained to him. He grinned proudly. It was really sweet when she learned how to spell new things because she never stopped talking about it. She would spell her name at random to everyone she met.

He got out some bread and even dared to touch the peanut butter. They hadn't had a treat in a while, and she just learned how to spell this random cat's name. So that was good enough for celebration. And even if it wasn't, he was in charge, so he said it was. For Amorie.

The look on her face when she saw the peanut butter on her bread was worth it, even if their parents got mad at him for dipping into it. They wouldn't, especially because he used so little, but even if they did.

Zeke went and opened up one of their windows while they were having their snack, and the two of them sat around deciding what kind of cat they wished would fall through the window. Amorie blurted out that she wanted to see a big fluffy one, and Zeke leaned his head back against their couch and said he wanted to see a spotted calico one. And then they both spelled calico a thousand times, until the letters and the word started to sound weird and not at all like a real word. Again and again, their bread gone, their fingers licked clean of peanut butter. For Amorie.

* * *

 **present day**

Zeke stood still in the square, frozen like a deer slipping out of Thirteen's woods and staring right at the barrel of a gun. All he could think about was how long it had taken this morning to convince Amorie she couldn't bring Atty to the reaping.

He remembered the first day the fat orange cat plopped in their window, a year after Mr. Delfi died, and the first time they'd seen the cat since. They had only had him for a few months now, but Amorie was in love with him. When he started hanging around their apartment a lot, she begged their parents to let him sleep in her bed. Eventually they gave in, and after that, Atty always returned to their apartment at least a couple times a week.

He wished he could escape from the reaping and find Atty for Amorie. He knew that she'd be crying here soon, if she wasn't already. The square was quiet, but there was always just enough chatter that he wouldn't be able to tell if his little sister had had time to let it sink in. To let her brother being reaped sink in.

Rachel Powers had been reaped first. She seemed like a quiet girl from the fifteen-year-olds' section. Nothing in particular jumped out about her. He had never seen her before, so he assumed she didn't live close enough to him to go to the same school. In his head, he was already thinking about how the Games were going to go, what comments the announcers were going to make about the plain girl from Thirteen. It was a normal reaping. Sad, but they were always sad.

Except then they called his name. They called his name.

Maybe he didn't actually stay still all that long, because there was no awkward pause when he started moving out toward the center aisle. No shifty glance from an impatient escort, no repeat of his name. He just went up there. Stood on the stage, glancing around. He shook Rachel's hand, and he was sure his eyes looked as dead as he felt inside.

He wanted the reaping over with. He wanted goodbyes over with. He was going to be sick.

The goodbyes room felt like a fucking coffin. He wanted to hit the walls, leave holes in them, tear up the nice fancy couches. He wanted to punch the goddamn windows and leave shards of glass down on the stage below to be picked up.

But it wouldn't be the Capitol picking it up. It would just be more sad people from District Thirteen, feeling guilt and pity for the poor kid who punched the window out. And his hand would bleed and hurt, and Amorie would be even more upset when she saw that. So he sat himself down on the couch and looked up at the ceiling, reigning himself in.

Nothing was going to fix it. All he could do was try not to make it worse. For Amorie.

Mom and Dad brought Amorie in. She hid behind Dad's legs like she was scared to see him. He wondered if she was trying to pretend this wasn't real. That was how he would feel in reverse. Like maybe he could make it all go away if he just didn't look at it. He had to see it to believe it.

Once she was fully in the room, she ran toward him and hugged him like she always did, but instead of grinning and calling him Zizi like she was still two years old, she finally started crying. He could feel her shoulders shaking even as he squeezed his eyes shut.

This wasn't ripping the bandaid off. This was digging a knife into his stomach and twisting it around a little for good measure. And to make it all worse, he could hear his mother's whimpers, muffled, so he knew she was in Dad's arms.

He could hear what his parents were going to say before they started saying it. They pulled away from the embrace they'd fallen into, and Zeke urged Amorie to sit down next to him so he could breathe again. Not that she was strong enough to squeeze the air out of him with her hugs, but it was a little suffocating every time his brain reminded him, _This could be the last time you ever hug her._

"You have a shot," Dad said, while Zeke ran through all the possible ways for him to say that Zeke had a chance of not dying. He hadn't been around his parents much throughout his life since they were always working, but he understood them. "Don't count yourself out, Ezekiel."

That was fair advice, really. He was kind of prone to counting himself out. He knew school was never really important for him—he was pretty solidly stuck in the mines for the rest of his life—so he stopped trying for the most part. But the _Ezekiel_ tagged onto the end was what made it really punch at the ache all of this was causing. His parents never called him by his full name. He just never went by it, even though he got it from surviving premature birth, getting this hearing loss shit, and losing the twin he was supposed to be born with before they could ever meet. Calling him by his full name now was a _plea._

"I'm not going to just throw myself off the platform," he told them. He looked down at Amorie and saw that her face was buried down in her hands, a look of grief saturating her. She was too young to look this broken. He swallowed every single realistic, blunt bone in his body and added, "I'll come home."

It didn't visibly change anything in Amorie's demeanor, but maybe later on, when she had to see him on the screen in the Games, it would help. Or at least his parents would be able to remind her that he promised her.

Zeke stood up and hugged his mom as she wiped at her eyes, looking like she was going to fall back into crying. Her hand went behind her head like she wanted him to shrink back down to Amorie's size, where she could hold him tight, away from the reaping and the Games.

"I love you, Mom," he said, and she nodded, whispering it back over and over again.

All their lives, Mom had clung to Zeke and Amorie whenever they would let her. All their lives, she had been one step ahead, making sure they were safe and happy in every way that she could. And now the Capitol was taking Zeke so far away, there was no way she could.

There were more people waiting outside to say goodbye to him, acquaintances that figured they couldn't live with themselves if they didn't wish him good luck before he was gone forever. People he genuinely enjoyed who wanted a little bit of closure before he disappeared. He wanted to tell a lot of them to go away. He wanted to spend his last hour with his parents and his sister. But the Peacekeepers poked their heads in and made his family leave soon enough, and one of the handful of others took their place. Amorie turned to face him as she left, waving one last time, and the door behind her like a coffin.

* * *

 **yeehaw! onto capitol chapters!**


	29. And So We Begin: Train Rides

**so a bitch is done with intros!**

* * *

 **Hall Silversmith**

 _ **District One**_

Hall wanted to feel anything as he walked into the train car. It seemed like he was supposed to feel something. The train was covered in fancy foods and sparkling decorations. There were booths and a little couch, and a door that led to another section of the train. But it wasn't the big living trains that districts further from the Capitol rode in, nor was it any fancier than what he was used to during trips with his father. He wanted to be excited, or to at least feign excitement like he was sure he was supposed to, but his heart wouldn't stop hammering in his chest.

He wanted to say goodbye to his father. He wanted not to feel like he was in a box that was getting smaller and smaller, crushing him in on all sides. What was going to blow up next? The train? The Capitol?

"I'm not supposed to be here," he said, the first time he'd opened his mouth since the explosion in the square. He wasn't sure who he was saying it to, but he realized that Nicolette Dion was right in front of him. He'd met her before. Well, he hadn't met her, but she had been at his house one day, when she was meeting with his father. He designed one of her outfits for meetings in the Capitol during Games season.

She looked down at him with squinty eyes, like Dazzle's eyes. The two of them looked so much alike, even though their appearances were starkly different. Hall felt like he was talking to an older version of the girl who seemed to still be throwing a fit about his presence.

"Well, I don't think we can do anything about that now," she said, and heaved an annoyed sigh. He was choking on his helplessness. Nicolette wasn't going to _do anything._ He was a hindrance to her; he knew he was! If she wanted a victory in her pocket this year, she'd have a much better chance with two capable tributes.

"I—"

Nicolette cut over him before he could speak, walking briskly toward the other car. "Can't catch a break," she muttered, and he paled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She couldn't hear him anymore, but it was instinctive. He sat down in one of the booths, near a tray full of cookies iced in bright colors, with little shiny edible decorations creating designs on top. If he ate one, he would be sick.

The Dazzle girl was pouting on the opposite end of the train car. There was nowhere for her to disappear off to since this wasn't a gigantic train. It wasn't long enough of a ride for that, but it was long enough that he felt like he'd be drowning by the end of it. He just wanted to talk to his dad. Maybe there was a way he could figure it out. The Silversmith name was big enough that he had to be able to at least _talk_ to someone. Hall wasn't sure how any of that worked, exactly. But he knew that there had to be a way. This wasn't _fair_ otherwise. If there was nothing that could be done, then Hall was going to die.

He had imagined going to the Games before, when there was nothing better to do than let his mind run wild. He imagined himself becoming what the Capitol would want him to be: a ruthless killer, slaying the other tributes in the arena, and helping his district partner slash through the competition until they emerged alive. But he was always older in those stories, because there was no way that he would be in the Games as young as he was. It just wasn't what was expected of him, of _anyone._ There was no way those gory fantasies would help him here.

It was up to his dad. He was Hall's last chance.

* * *

 **Neha Alexander**

 _ **District Two**_

Neha was probably supposed to resent Balder Stein for beating her boyfriend up, but when they were finally on the train, away from the Capitol's cameras and fawning, all she wanted to do was thank him.

Lucretia Palmer, the mentor for District Two this year, seemed uncertain with what to do with the two of them. She wasn't an inexperienced mentor, but it was a Quell this year. Neha didn't really know what to do either. She wasn't sure if she should be talking with Balder, but there wasn't much to say. There was no strategy they could build together. They were opponents this year.

She knew the Career pack existed before two people could win one Games, and she wondered how the hell that worked. Why would all the Career districts band together with their district partners when they were enemies? How would a Career pack work this year? She wanted to ask Lucretia how she thought it would play out, but the woman was stoically sitting in one of the booths, a bowl of soup she'd asked for from an Avox in her hands.

It wasn't the most awkward situation she'd ever been in, but it was bad enough that Markus Orion had fled to the next train car. She wished the ride to the Capitol was long enough that this train could be equipped with bedrooms that she could disappear in.

For probably fifteen minutes straight, there wasn't much to break the silence except natural noises around the car. She spent most of that time staring off into space and missing her family already. Missing Lars so much, her hand felt empty without his entwined in it.

She couldn't spend five hours of her life like this.

Neha turned on the charm that she could fake so easily if she needed to. As she stood up and slid into the seat across from Balder Stein, she smiled thinly. It wasn't perfect, but she hated faking this cheeriness so much, it was always a little bit off from the real thing. "Hi," she greeted, and immediately thought that maybe _Hi_ was worse than any weird conversation-starter she could have come up with.

"Hello," he said, his voice wary. Which was fair enough. There was a pause while she tried to think of what to say, but he broke it with a quick inhale. She glanced up at him from where her eyes had strayed down to the table, and saw him considering whether or not to say something. Her interest piqued, she leaned forward with eyebrows raised, and he smiled a little nervously. "You're— I mean, I beat your boyfriend, didn't I?"

His voice was kind of cocky. The nervousness in his smile slipped away as soon as the words left his mouth, and the fucker was smug about this. She should've been pissed off at him right away, but she was just amused. There was something intriguing about him, about the way he carried himself, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Lars would like him, if they hadn't been opponents in reaching the volunteer spot.

"You did," she said evenly.

"Well," he said, nodding slowly and laying his hands on the table like this was a business deal, "you're welcome." Her eyebrows shot up at his boldness and he held his hands up defensively. "Hey, this Quell isn't for couples. The _Games_ aren't for couples in general."

"No, you're right," she told him, before he could think she was actually angry. The nerves of this guy, though—or maybe this was just how he _was._ "I didn't want to go in with him. I was rooting for you."

Balder leaned back in his seat. "Harsh."

She shrugged, leaning back as well. She was making herself at home in this setting just as much as he was, mirroring it a little bit. She wasn't going to lie and say she was rich like he undoubtedly was, but she also didn't want to flaunt her lack of opportunities back home. She wasn't going to let Balder see any uncertainty she had. She wasn't going to let anyone.

Maybe talking to him was a good idea. It would give her good insight on how to fuck him over later.

* * *

 **Ferrin Novak**

 _ **District Three**_

Ferrin wanted to go to his room the moment they got on the train, numb from the reaping and needing time to let his brain catch up. But then he saw all the food laid out in front of him and his stomach growled instantly. He launched himself as politely as possible at the table—which was to say that he walked over to it quickly instead of actually sprinting.

There was stew in a big pot on the table and little sides spread out all around. He ladled himself out a bowl full of the dark brown soup and grabbed a roll from the big plate beside it. There was a little white dish full of slowly-melting butter and he spread it all over his roll. This bread was so much nicer than the bread he got from tesserae, and the soup smelled so strongly he was nearly sent into a starved haze.

The other person, Audrey, looked a little warier, which was maybe just the natural state they were in. They stayed at the door to the train car as Imelda got herself a bowl of soup as well and found herself a spot in the dining car. It wasn't lunchtime now, but maybe she hadn't had time to eat before all of this. Decima didn't get any soup, but she got a couple of unbuttered rolls and sat with one knee against her chest at the table.

The way she carried herself was so much like Reyna, it was creepy. If he only watched her movements, the thirty-nine-year-old victor was indistinguishable from his nineteen-year-old big sister.

"You two," Decima said, motioning for Ferrin and Audrey to come over. He paused for a moment, feeling strange at the thought of being close to Decima. She was a legend, the only victor from District Three, and Ferrin kept seeing her kills run through his mind. He hadn't studied her Games or anything, but what he remembered from reruns played during Games season seemed to hang over her head in his mind. But he knew he should listen to her, so he sat across from her. Audrey joined, with one empty seat hanging between them.

It was quiet for a few minutes. Decima ate her rolls and Ferrin sipped at his soup as quietly as possible, the broth traveling through him in warm gulps. Occasionally he scooped up pieces of the soft beef, too. It was so good it felt criminal. He knew Reyna was still hungry and skeleton-skinny in District Three, and he was enjoying this for _free_ —well, free if you didn't consider his life to be his payment.

Finally, once Decima had wiped her hands off on a napkin that was already laid out at the dinner table, she sat back, one foot still up on the chair. "Tell me a little bit about yourself," she said, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pursed. She looked like she was in pain, even as she asked them to rattle off facts about themselves like this was a fun activity on the first day of school.

Ferrin looked over at Audrey, who was balling up the end of the tablecloth in their hands and letting it go. They glanced up between Ferrin and Decima, eyes widened slightly as if they weren't the only person in the room Decima would be talking to other than Ferrin. And he wasn't going first.

"Oh. Uh." They looked down at their lap, one hand scratching their head. They had only a shadow of their brown hair, as it had otherwise been shaved off. "Audrey. I go by zey-zem."

Ferrin noted the pronouns. Even though they would be in a deathmatch in a week, he didn't want to get them wrong. A lot of people still mistook him for a girl in District Three, so if Audrey and Decima could call him his pronouns, he could make an effort to remember Audrey's. Even though he'd never heard them used before.

It seemed that Decima was doing the same, but a normal amount of time passed and she still didn't say anything. Maybe waiting for Audrey to say more, but it seemed zey retreated into zemself, going back to picking at the end of the tablecloth. "Well," Decima continued finally, "what about you?"

Ferrin looked at her, feeling caught off guard even though he knew he was next. Maybe he judged Audrey's reaction to having to speak too quickly. "I'm fast," he said. He knew that would be helpful. It was the only thing that was helpful to him on the streets, and it seemed to him like the arena would just be a more violent version of that. "I steal a lot."

Decima gave him a once-over, probably disappointed at how small he was. He didn't want to feel bad about himself so soon on this stupid train ride. Wasn't the rest of this enough? But he guessed she had to put together his strengths _and_ weaknesses. "Homeless?" she asked. He nodded. "Right, well, that's really in your favor here." She looked over at Audrey, and then at Ferrin. Not a very strong duo she had to work with this year. He felt bad, knowing she wouldn't be bringing home anyone.

Distantly he was aware that it was fucked up that _he_ felt bad for _her_ over his imminent death, but who cared about that right then?

"You're both handling this well, considering," she said. She stood up from the table with a huff, and her already-graying hair fell back behind her shoulders. She looked so much older than she already was. "At least there's that."

* * *

 **Sedna Dyan**

 _ **District Four**_

Sedna had no idea why her dad wanted her to kill Carloman Longstaff so badly, but she had no doubt upon meeting him that he was a menace to society.

Ever since that morning when they boarded the train, Carloman had been all over Isaac. She had wanted to go over strategies with their mentor, but it seemed like this was just a fun vacation for him. Maybe he'd get serious in the Capitol, but she wanted to be as prepared as possible. At lunch, she gave up and went off to the lounging car to watch reaping recaps away from the two of them. Her breaking point was when Isaac started dangling chocolate-covered strawberries over Carloman's mouth.

Osmi Sola, the escort, had thrown himself into the loveseat after eating, laying his plate of dessert on the stand next to him. He had given her an apologetic look and said, "I escorted for Mr. Welsh," like that was to explain all of his nonsense. Maybe for him, being a tribute was time for fun and games, since it was only _his_ life on the line. But being a mentor was a _job_ , goddammit, and her life was hanging by a thread! She was going up against Carloman Longstaff, and all the other skilled tributes from One and Two. She couldn't afford his bullshit.

Tonight at dinner, she wasn't going to let it fly. It was already intolerable to see Carloman walking out of Isaac's car with nothing but a robe on, his dopey smile stretching across his face, but she could put that aside as long as they were willing to work before reaching the Capitol. The Games may have been a week away, but the performance started _today_ , the moment they got off the train.

She waited until everyone was sitting down for dinner and scanned everyone's faces, getting a feel for the mood of the room. Osmi was yawning and looked a little bit like he wanted to slip out the train window and flee into the woods between districts, never to return. Isaac was devouring his breakfast like he'd never eaten before. And Carloman was slung over his chair, which was facing backwards, cool and disinterested in what they'd served. He picked at some of the biscuits, which were actually really nice. But he was probably some arrogant prick, spoiled to death by his victor mommy.

Her hatred for him grew by the second, but she took a deep breath. She had to keep herself level if she was going to be the only voice of reason.

"What's on the agenda for today?" she asked after Isaac and Carloman stopped talking about some fancy satin from the Capitol. Apparently _both_ of their sheets were made out of the same satiny light blue material back home. She was sure they were dying for Carloman to win so they could see _up close_ their identical sheets, but that wasn't going to happen on her watch. Isaac could flirt with his next hot tribute if he had to.

Isaac looked up at her and instantly his entire persona shifted, as if he was realizing for the first time since they all got on the train that there was something he was supposed to be accomplishing here. He sat up and sort of shrugged Carloman away from him, the younger man's hand falling from his shoulder. Relief washed over her. Maybe her mentor wasn't entirely useless.

"Well, chariots are tomorrow, but you will be in front of the public when you get off the train," he said, his voice steady and thoughtful. This was the man who had always seemed intelligent when he was being serious in interviews, and the one she was intrigued about when she first heard that Talisa Longstaff wouldn't be mentoring this year. He'd probably be perfect for his job, if only the other tribute _weren't_ Carloman Longstaff, Isaac Welsh's exact double.

"Right," Sedna said, leaning forward at the table and clasping her hands together. "I was thinking we should talk about presentation."

Isaac smiled at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling up. His laugh lines were already prevalent enough on his young face, but it really just gave him character. Oh, fuck, if she didn't care so much about _not dying_ , she would probably think he was hot, too. "You're more on top of this than I am, aren't you?" he asked, the words somehow feeling like the taste of metal in her mouth. Her entire mood shifted in a snap. She sat back in her chair and let her arms fall off the table, unsure how he could give her such a genuine smile while letting the tone of his voice do all of this threatening for him.

And for what? Because she wanted to get down to business and he didn't?

"Suits and dresses," Carloman said, looking between Isaac and Sedna.

She didn't want to hear anything out of him. None of his input was going to be genuine, and she didn't have _time_ for anything else.

"What?" she said, clipping the end of the word and crossing her arms at him. She wouldn't toe too close to Isaac's tipping point, but she was more than fine with prodding at Carloman until he understood how strongly she already disliked him.

"What don't you understand?" Carloman asked with such a sweet smile, her stomach hurt. And the worst part of it was, he was being entirely sincere. There was no snark in his words. He wanted to know what she didn't understand. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of explaining where their communication went wrong, so when she was silent for long enough, he told her, "I just meant you and I should wear a suit and a dress. Let the Capitol get the best pictures of us out before the other districts."

Oh. That actually did make sense.

"We're not a team," she reminded him, refusing to concede that she would be using his idea.

"Not a team?" Isaac asked, bringing his cup of wine close to his chest as he finished his dinner. He swallowed his last bite of biscuit and stood up, clinging to the wine glass. "I think you need to respect my authority a little more, Miss Dyan."

He turned out of the dining car with a flourish, Carloman trailing after him. Before she could think of exactly how much she'd just fucked herself over, Osmi Sola patted her on the back and said, "That could have gone better for you, sweetheart."

Yeah. It really could have.

* * *

 **Natalia Orson**

 _ **District Five**_

Natalia hadn't spoken since boarding the train. That was mostly fine. It seemed that Owen Eleksi was more focused on Aren Turing, even though in Natalia's opinion, neither of them were more likely than the other to win this shit.

Still, it helped her get her shit in order. After she woke up covered in blood, she hadn't been thinking straight. Everything had sent her off kilter, and she felt like she needed to turn everything off and back on again, one by one. Her logic, her reasoning.

Clear her head. Get focused on this Aren Turing. He was her opponent, and she would be in close quarters with him until the Games. Use that to her advantage, maybe.

When the recaps came on, the four of them were sitting in the living car, each of them with a comfortable chair tilted toward the screen showing the District Two girl volunteering. For some reason, there was no coverage on District One's reaping, but she didn't care enough to ask why.

Dmitri Waterfell turned to her, now in a much more conservative outfit than the one he wore on stage at the reaping. His entire chest was covered now, which was a relief, but he was no less flamboyant than before. He wore a purple, pink, and light green satin cardigan that tied in the middle like a robe. Actually, she was sure that if it wasn't tied around his waist right now, his entire chest would be bare for her to see again.

"Darling, you've been so quiet since we've arrived," he said, hand placed delicately on the edge of his chair. He moved so naturally, but it was all so light and exquisite, it seemed to her it must be fabricated. It was interesting to watch him, and to watch the mentor and see what he acted like in the face of all of these awful things happening to him. "Are you all right? Would you like some tea?"

She was going to say no, but then she actually thought about a warm cup of tea. "Okay," she said, finally speaking up. Owen Eleksi looked over at her, eyebrows raised. He glanced away quickly, back at the television. She shot her gaze over to Aren Turing for a moment. He was unmoved by her talking.

"Come here," Dmitri said, standing up. What, was he going to take her personally to ask an Avox for some tea? She hated speaking to them. They were awash with shame, so much so she could feel it in the air around them. Shame and despair. It made her feel so much worse than she already did.

Once she was up, Dmitri placed a comforting hand on her back and guided her into the dining car where they'd sat for a while upon arriving. She had snacked on some of the fancy cookies in there, but her stomach wasn't stable enough to eat much more than that. She wasn't sure if she would ever not feel nauseous again, but with all of the delicious, expensive Capitol foods surrounding her, she hoped it would settle down soon.

Dmitri slipped back behind the counter where the Avoxes presented their food when Owen had asked them for soup earlier. He and Aren had eaten in one of the booths, with Owen occasionally glancing over at her sitting alone. She kept her eyes on them when they weren't watching, focusing on their interactions, which was what originally calmed her down enough to start thinking more logically.

To her surprise, Dmitri started pulling out things to make the tea on his own. Perhaps her eyes widened a bit without her realizing, because he smiled at her and motioned for her to take a seat at one of the barstools. "I may look helpless, darling," he said, throwing items into a tea-maker, or whatever the big device on the corner of the counter was, "but I can make tea."

She nodded, settling into a seat and watching him flit about, putting things together. Once he was satisfied and the tea was brewing, he leaned over the counter, head in his hands and elbows resting. His eyes jumped back and forth between hers, and it seemed a bit like he was gazing at a puppy he was considering adopting. She shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, annoyed at the silence. She didn't like to be picked apart by Dmitri's eyes like an animal.

"Why haven't you been talking, dear?" he asked after too much silence had passed between them. "Is it because Owen favors Aren?" He hissed out the _s_ in favors, like all Capitolites did, but somehow he still sounded so sincere and kind. That was something the Capitolian accent usually didn't afford, which made Dmitri more interesting to her. Did he have a real fondness for the tributes that he watched over? She had never known before if escorts did, since they participated in the Games even more so than the average watcher from the Capitol.

"Does he like him more?" She hadn't picked that up, but Dmitri knew Owen better than she did. It seemed to her he just didn't know how to deal with such a quiet tribute.

Dmitri shut his eyes and sighed. "Owen is so new to this job," he said mournfully, like he missed years in the past when he was the only one who had to look over the tributes. It struck her then that this _was_ the first year that Dmitri didn't double as a mentor and an escort for District Five, and he was probably closer to tributes than the escorts from successful districts would ever be. "He sees himself in Aren, I'm sure." He opened his eyes, which she realized were kind of golden. She couldn't tell if it was a modification or if they were simply contact lenses. "They're very similar people, although I suppose Owen had a bit more of a chance in the very beginning than poor Aren does."

Dmitri turned around as the tea-maker made a chirping sound, and poured out a steaming blue liquid. He slid a mug across to her and she breathed in deeply, relaxation climbing over every inch of her body. The smell could make her mouth water for days.

"It should help relieve anxiety," he told her, pouring a mug for himself and coming around the bar to sit next to her. "Natalia, love, I don't want you to worry about Owen's mentoring skills. Even if he should pour all of his energy into Aren, I'll keep my eye out for you." He smiled at her, pearly white teeth catching the light so that they glistened.

* * *

 **Judah Tines**

 _ **District Six**_

Judah could see the Capitol from here. They were going to arrive soon, and be whisked off into the city to be dolled up. Actually, it would probably be a little bit before things could get rolling. They'd seen a map of Panem before, and District Thirteen's square was the furthest from the Capitol's center. Everyone would have to wait until they got there for Opening Ceremony preparations to begin.

They turned back toward Athena Maine and Oscar Wintry, unsure what was about to happen. They had obviously never been styled before, and they weren't exactly ready to be out in front of all the Capitolites as they were now.

"What are our costumes going to be?" they asked Athena.

Their mentor looked at them with empty eyes, looking like she was still staring right past Judah's head. "Oh," she said. She shrugged unhelpfully and sat down as they waited to enter the train station.

Balisong wheeled over to the window and peered out at the beautiful skyline of the Capitol over the water surrounding it. The buildings' colors were visible from even this distance, standing out starkly against the sky they caressed. "What if they make my chair a train?" they asked. Judah had learned since their overnight stay in the train that Balisong used the same pronouns as they did, which was a nice little piece of solidarity that was completely useless in light of this year's Quell twist. Judah had to remind themself over and over again that the two of them weren't partners this year, and they couldn't get attached to the bright-haired kid in the wheelchair. They couldn't both make it home.

"You'll be meeting your partners," Athena told the two of them.

Apparently there had been a list made before the reapings even began, pairing tributes up based on where they were reaped. Athena didn't know yet who was with who, but the stylists would have to, since they needed to know how to blend two different districts' styles early enough to have outfits ready. But that way it would be completely random.

They weren't totally sure if they believed how completely random the whole system was. Judah was pretty forgettable—an average sized person with an average reaction to the reaping, already overshadowed by their district partner having blue hair and a wheelchair. So they wouldn't be surprised if they got paired with someone with no chance whatsoever, just so their lack of potential could be killed off quickly in the bloodbath. Wouldn't that be their luck?

"Everything's going to go spectacularly once you know your partners," Oscar said, coming up behind them. "And your costumes will be delightful, I'm sure."

Oscar had turned out to be decently comforting in all of this, which was nice enough. Judah didn't know what to think about this experience, but having an escort and a mentor who wanted to help at least prevented them from having another breakdown. At least so far. They didn't know what that night would bring, after they would be paraded around and everything would start to become a lot more real.

"What if they don't like me?" Judah asked, looking back at Oscar. God, why did they say that? They couldn't let their insecurities guide them throughout all this. They wouldn't get sponsors or recognition that way, but they couldn't help feeling horribly insignificant.

Oscar tapped on Judah's shoulder until they turned around to face him. He never seemed fully sincere when they looked in his eyes, but his words and actions were so comforting, it was best that they just let themself believe. To keep themself sane for now. They wondered how Balisong was holding up, and then squashed that thought quickly. It didn't matter how Balisong was holding up.

"Judah, I think you'll be remarkable tonight, so long as _you_ think you'll be remarkable tonight," he promised, and looked down at Balisong as well. "And the same goes for you. You are not underdogs because you're from Six. You only appear to be underdogs. Do you know that the only outer districts with more victors than Six are Seven and Ten?"

Judah didn't know that. Somehow, that did help a little bit. They didn't know all that much about Six's victors' Games, but they knew that none of them were standout victors from the beginning. They worked at their victories, unlike Careers who had it handed to them, or those from Seven who were always stronger than the other districts because of lumber work. They had to push to win, to be more than a boring tribute from the most crime- and drug-filled district in the country.

Maybe with a push, Judah could tip those scales a little bit, too.

* * *

 **the first half of the train rides! next chapter is going to be an intermission chap to break up train ride monotony a little bit.**

 **back to the chapter questions: which group has the most interesting dynamic this chapter?**


	30. As It Seems

**Eirene Luna**

 _ **Head Gamemaker**_

Eirene hadn't talked to her wife since yesterday. It wasn't like she had been totally bored, of course. Chariots were tomorrow, and the touchup preparations for the arena could finally begin now that she'd seen the batch of tributes this year. It was a good, malleable bunch of kids. There would be fun to be had, a story to be told here, and she couldn't see very many that she would be _unhappy_ with as a victor. It was going to be a good Games.

But the only contact she'd had with her wife were two messages sent to her via their mansion servants. Just a simple _talk to you later xo_ and then, after that, _won't be home for dinner sorry, update you later xo_. Nothing satisfactory, and no explanations.

All she'd been fed so far was the lie that everyone under the clearance zone received: It was a gas leak, some kind of issue with the piping, an _accident._ But she wasn't stupid enough to swallow that like everyone else. Hell, she wasn't sure _everyone else_ was stupid enough for that either. It wasn't Isidora's best cover-up work, which didn't bode well for the country. That meant the problem was big.

"Mrs. Luna," one of her assistant Gamemakers said, calling her back into the moment. She looked down at the paperwork she'd been signing, authorizing some of the little arena tricks to be created with their available funding. It was expensive this year, but considering the unrest in One, she couldn't be more willing to go above and beyond to build distractions. "Do you have a minute?"

She focused on who was speaking to her. It was Renna Paolo, the newest addition to the team. She showed a lot of promise, but seemed so dedicated to proving herself, she never let herself have any fun. Whenever conversations devolved beyond work, she would shrink into herself and take any opportunity possible to scurry back to her desk. It had become Eirene's background mission to bring her out of her shell, see if she was better at stepping outside of the box when she was prodded at.

"Of course," Eirene said, and Renna shut the door to Eirene's office behind her. "What's up, Miss Paolo?"

Renna clutched a stack of papers and a binder to her chest, looking like a schoolgirl anxious about talking to the principal. "I found a flaw in the arena plan," she said, her voice quivering somewhere in the middle. Not like she was going to cry, but definitely like it was difficult for her to muster up the courage for every single word.

"Okay," Eirene said, much more used to Gamemakers critiquing her arena design than Renna was probably aware. She made it clear every year when the Gamemakers gathered for the first time that if they held out on her even a little bit, they wouldn't be making it back onto the team next year. A lot of them got the hang of the balance between serious and comfortable that Eirene liked in her workplace pretty quickly, but Renna was so soft-spoken, Eirene worried she'd have to cut her. But she wasn't going to give up so easily. "Lay it on me."

Renna set her binder down on the corner of Eirene's desk and pulled out the layout of the arena, seemingly an annotated version. Renna had different sections highlighted, and a little key for what each color and marking meant off to the side. There were a lot of little scribbles and question marks, and after Eirene eyed a couple, she saw that they were actually really intriguing ideas that Renna hadn't voiced to her yet.

"This is amazing, Miss Paolo," she said, reaching out and pulling the map closer to her. She traced over a rough outline on the flexible muttation schedule. Her gaze fell on an area circled in red pen, highlighted in green—the color Renna used for technical placements, as in things implanted in the ground or the tree, things tributes wouldn't see but that would be vital to carrying out some of their special plans. "Oh, is the issue here?"

Renna nodded and came around the side of the desk, beginning to pour out an analysis on improvements that could be made on this section of the arena and others like it. It was amazing, and exactly the kind of professional input she wanted out of the girl. When Eirene pushed back against her plan, just to see if the younger Gamemaker would give in, Renna bit her lip, nodding slowly. She started to gather up the map, and then shook her head quickly. "No, Mrs. Luna, I really believe we need to take care of this, before the tributes are in there and it's too late," she said. "I think it requires personal assessment, but if we send a team by hovercraft out there tonight, we could have adjustments planned, funded, and executed in just a couple of days. Which would also bode well for my second point…"

Eirene raised he eyebrows. "Second point?"

Renna started putting her papers back into her binder, avoiding Eirene's gaze, but while she did so, she began to give Eirene the most brilliant idea she'd heard in a long time. And an excellent addition to an arena that needed to be more spectacular than ever.

She'd heard from their communications duo that the Capitol was extremely dissatisfied with this year's Quell twist. It had little to no bearing on the arena, and the districts were beyond pissed since it separated their partners for the first time since the Eight-first Hunger Games. So things had to be perfect. They had to be above and beyond. And Renna had just the idea for it.

* * *

After work that night, Eirene collapsed in her comfortable lounge chair, flipping on Karamo Morningstar's talk show. She had poured out a generous glass of wine when she got home. Normally she would be brainstorming this close to the events, but she just wanted to stop worrying about Isidora.

Why hadn't she at least come home? There was no way she would be working forty-eight hours straight. She'd drive herself insane, or at least make herself horribly sick.

Sometime halfway through her glass of wine, when Karamo's comments on the reapings to the retired District Thirteen escort started to get on her last nerves, the door to the living room slid open and Isidora slipped inside.

Eirene was on her feet in an instant. Isi looked bone-tired. Her beautiful eyes were bruised and bloodshot from how hard she'd been working since the incident, and Eirene's frustrations and worries flew away upon seeing her.

"Oh, dear," she said, putting her hands on her wife's arms and rubbing up and down gently. "You're sleeping. Right now."

She guided Isidora to their bedroom with little protest. They put on pajamas and brushed their teeth in silence, their nightly routine dragged down by Isi's exhaustion. Eirene braided back her hair and slipped into the bed.

"It's chaos out there," Isi whispered. That must have been in the high-clearance zone of the mansion, where the work was so official, only the president and her highest cabinet members could enter.

The Head Gamemaker wasn't a cabinet member at all. Normally those in her position didn't have as much clearance as Eirene did, but marrying the president had its business perks. But sometimes those ran short, like now, when the situation was too dire for a Gamemaker to hear.

"What happened?" Eirene asked, searching her wife's eyes for the truth. There had been times—not many, but still—where Isidora lied to her about what was going on. But she always told the truth eventually. Eirene didn't want the bullshit now, though. She was stressed from the Games, from missing her wife, from whatever was going on. She wanted to know the facts.

Isidora heaved a sigh and turned her face so it was mostly hidden in the pillow. "Rebels," she whispered, barely audible through the sound-smushing cushion of the pillow. "We think, at least. Posed as Peacekeepers, executing well-known Capitol associates of District One."

Eirene had tried not to think about the deaths of the three victors and the mayor in One. She had known Cecil Kenneth and Tan Nolan well. And although she hadn't spoken much to the Ninety-sixth's victor, Magnus Whitechurch, she knew that he was a valuable player in the victors' circle. Gone. The only one left was poor Nicolette Dion, undoubtedly mourning Tan Nolan's death, if she had heard at all yet.

The news reports were spotty. At first, they wouldn't even show One's reaping in the recaps. But on the news channel directly afterward, they reported the "gas leak" incident. And not an hour later, Violetta Bane, the main news reporter in the Capitol, was the first to report on the story of three of One's four victors being killed.

"And they didn't round up Nicolette? Why?" Eirene asked. She knew that they must have been rounded up sometime after the explosion, mostly because the "blast" clearly didn't reach the Justice Building in the brief clip she'd seen of the incident.

Isidora shook her head. "We don't know. Neither does she."

Eirene couldn't bear to press more, even though she wanted to know every little detail that Isidora was willing to give out. She was afraid her wife would be gone by the time she woke up the next morning, though, and she couldn't waste another minute on business that was stressing her out outside of home. She leaned their foreheads together and shut her eyes, willing to forget about everything for now, for Isi's sake.

"It doesn't matter here," she whispered. "I want you to rest."

She was sound asleep before she could even answer.

* * *

 **Atticus Carter**

 _ **Second Rebellion Radical**_

NO MAN'S LAND

Atticus Carter woke up in a hovercraft. The last time he'd been in a hovercraft was during the Second Rebellion, twenty-six years ago. And now he was in a hovercraft again, with no memory of ever getting on it.

He hadn't left the Panem Maximum Security Facility in five years, since the last time there was a lead about some of his contacts from the rebellion. He had been sent then to scour out details based on what he knew, and help to track them down for the price of his own life. Over time, and with every detail about the rebellion he handed over, his quality of living had improved. At first it was a nicer bed, with actually warm sheets and a pillow. Then it was books, and nicer food, until the little cell he lived in was comfortable, and the Peacekeepers treated him with some semblance of respect. Or even kindness, in the cases of the softer ones who actually liked him.

It wasn't living, really, but it was okay. And it was worth not dying for. So he kept giving up secrets, as much as he could. They hadn't even asked him for anything in ages, but as long as he kept the allowances they'd given him, he'd give up anything.

He wasn't so sure what they wanted now.

A man in a dark brown suit came into the room not long after he'd sat up from the cramped little bed in the corner. "Carter," the man said, his voice deep and uncomfortably raspy. Like he needed to clear his throat. He leaned against the doorframe of what Atticus assumed was a backroom of the hovercraft, one leg over the other dramatically. It was like he'd prepared this entrance, specifically for the drama. The most disturbing thing about him was his mouth, which he seemed to barely move, even as he spoke and smiled. Never showing his teeth. "How would you like to give President Luna a scare?"

* * *

 **SO chapter question what are y'all making of the intermission so far?**


	31. The Prodigy's Review: Reaping Recaps

**Carlo Longstaff**

 _ **District Four**_

After dinner was over, Isaac plopped down on the couch in the sitting car, a glass of wine still pressed against him like it was a mug of coffee in the morning. Carlo sat on the bright pink chair next to Isaac. It was maybe a bit too presumptuous to assume that he could curl up next to Isaac while they watched reaping recaps, as if they weren't part of a mentor-tribute relationship. He knew that this flirting between the two of them was nothing more than having a little bit of fun before the seriousness began, but _God_ , he wanted to test it just a little bit.

He wouldn't, though. Not now, and not in front of Sedna.

"Sedna wouldn't be so bad to have as a partner," Carlo said after a moment of listening to Karamo Morningstar jabber on about the tributes as they waited for recaps to begin. "Too bad about the twist this year, I guess."

Isaac shot Carlo a glance. "I guess," he agreed, "but I'm not going to mentor you on how to kill her."

"I didn't expect you to," Carlo told him, the words rushing out. He didn't want Isaac to think he wanted or needed charity to win these Games. He tightened up a little bit, turning toward the screen and away from Isaac. He wasn't just a Longstaff with an ego problem; he had the skills to back up his attitude. "Doesn't seem like you like her very much, though."

Isaac sighed and started drumming his fingers on the couch. Carlo didn't know if he was getting irritated himself, or if maybe he felt bad for being condescending. "I don't have opinions on either of you yet," he said shortly.

Right. Carlo could play that game too.

He was quiet for a while as the recaps finally started playing. District One was basically skipped over, except for a brief introduction to the two tributes by Karamo Morningstar.

An image of a smallish girl with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes appeared next to the _very_ familiar face—Hall Silversmith, such a scrawny boy with dark brown skin and big, childish eyes. Carlo had seen the modeling icon everywhere, as he was a well-known representative of his father's child clothing line. Carlo knew that there had been some kind of accident in One that prevented them from finishing the reaping, but he had no idea that they actually intended to send _Hermes Silversmith's_ son to the Games. It was probably the stupidest decision the Capitol had made in terms of the Games in years, and it made District One a huge disappointment for his assessment of Careers.

District Two was a little more promising—a shortish blond kid and a lean girl with curly hair. She was pretty, which was an advantage to her, if she wanted to pursue that. His mom always complained about the pretty girls from One flaunting their looks as if they could use that to carry themselves through the arena. He couldn't tell much from either of their reapings. Both of them seemed confident, although the guy seemed worried as he rushed up to the stage.

Karamo stopped off before they led into the recaps of Three to comment on Balder Stein and Neha Alexander. " _I see fighters here,"_ he said, pale fingers stretching out over his knee as he leaned toward his cohost, Violetta Bane, perhaps the most prominent newscaster in the Capitol who often acted as a commentator during Games seasons. There used to be an official announcer alongside the Master of Ceremonies, but the new tradition was to treat this second-of-command position as a reason to have a guest announcer ever year. Last year it was an old retired escort, which was a hit, but pretty and charismatic Violetta Bane was never turned down when she asked to come back to give it another go.

" _I do too!"_ Violetta tapped a button at her fingertips and a little clip of Balder Stein's reaping played over again, the moment when he was first volunteering. There was fleeting fear in his eyes as he launched himself forward to take his position. " _I have to wonder what this is about though…? Karamo, what do you think?"_

" _Oh, I couldn't begin to guess,"_ he said with a laugh. His orange hair stuck out on either side of his head, and loose, feathery strands of it kept falling over his forehead. " _Second thoughts, I wonder?"_

Carlo winced for Balder Stein. With that stated for all of the Capitol to hear, he would have to work extra hard to prove himself as a fighting-fit Career, and not some wuss who barely managed to get past his volunteering nerves. It was almost cruel how much power the announcers had over their images, which could easily make or break their chances at survival.

"Why are you worried?" Isaac asked, seeing Carlo's discomfort.

"He could be my partner," he explained. "Shouldn't you think about the bigger picture, Isaac?"

Isaac nodded slowly but said nothing. So maybe they were bickering a little bit. It would only make their flirting more dynamic later on.

Carlo could only think about what the announcers said about Balder, though. It seemed like an unfair disadvantage to put on someone, something that bothered him yearly when he watched over Games and recaps. But bringing that up had brought nothing but ridicule from most people he tried to explain it to. Even most of his boyfriends didn't understand why a disadvantage to everyone but Four was a bad thing. Only Yue sort of grasped why he wanted things to be fair and even. Everyone discounted Four, since they only sent their best on specific years, and since they were the least prized of the three richest districts. Giving Four an outrageous advantage did nothing but fuel One and Two's opinions that they were weaker, and could only win with a little push.

He wasn't sure that someone like Isaac, someone who happily fought dirty, would understand. He couldn't see Sedna understanding either. These Games were more about winning for her, rather than bringing home honor to District Four, and carrying on a tradition. That was all the Games had become to so many Careers: winning for themselves, basking in the glory of it all, rather than _culture._

District Three was unremarkable. "Easy pickings," Isaac said, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. It was hard to be annoyed at the man.

Karamo Morningstar and Violetta Bane fawned over the small boy tribute. Carlo tuned out for a little bit until finally his own reaping came on.

He leaned forward like the show was finally getting good, and Isaac rolled his eyes. He wanted to know what Violetta and Karamo had to say about him, though, and if it was better or worse than Sedna.

" _She looks like a strong candidate,"_ Violetta said mildly as Sedna climbed the stage. It was a nice enough compliment. Sedna truly didn't stick out in her reaping. She was a collected and confident volunteer, as many of them were, but that didn't make her any less dangerous. He knew from the train ride so far that she was determined and focused. He didn't like her particularly, but he knew that wasn't _her_ fault. She was probably a wonderfully pleasant girl back home, and he would treat her as such. He just wanted to pick apart her weaknesses, and Violetta and Karamo were offering no more insight that he couldn't already gather himself. " _Good posture_ — _Karamo, have you ever heard that old saying about posture?"_

 _Oh, Lord,_ Carlo thought, rolling his eyes. Would they just talk about him already?

When they finally did, he was _not_ disappointed. Karamo Morningstar actually clapped for him, throwing his head back in laughter. Carlo grinned and crossed his arms.

" _The son of Talisa Lonstaff,"_ Violetta Bane said, the thrill in her voice all-encompassing.

" _I remember the news reports from when he was born!"_ Karamo said. " _He's grown up to be quite the volunteer."_

Carlo watched himself walk up to the stage. For the first time, he saw the look in his mother's eyes as he volunteered. He was too focused on what he was doing this morning to think about looking back at the victors after he volunteered. He had never seen her so proud in her entire life, a small and reserved smile turning the corners of her lips upward. Carlo's grin dropped slowly, and every time the show cut away from the footage of his reaping, he hoped silently for a replay of the footage of his mother's face.

Sedna slinked into the living car and sat down quietly in the seat closest to the door, away from Isaac and Carlo. She was just in time to watch Karamo and Violetta fawn over his size and his obvious strength. She was going to have a hard time being his district partner.

The lower districts were usually pretty unremarkable, but there were a surprising number of volunteers. By the time the reaping recaps were over, Carlo assessed his competition out there. District Five had a poor crying boy and a quiet girl, a boy in a wheelchair from Six, a _very_ strong looking lumberjack girl from Seven, a strong volunteer from Eight, a defeated volunteer from Nine. The girl from Nine yelled at the camera, spitting out insults at the Capitol about the fairness of it all, and then she broke into tears. He supposed that was interesting enough. A volunteer from Ten, and from Eleven, for fuck's sake. Twelve and Thirteen went by without picking up his interest, and then he was taken back to the moment that Karamo clapped at his reaping.

His boyfriends back home would get a kick out of that, and he was sure when he returned home they would pester him with jokes about being the Capitol's newest hunk. He was _their_ hunk, he would say, and they would bug him about being cheesy, and it would all be done around a warm bonfire, some smooth liquor in his hands, or maybe just a mug of hot chocolate.

"The boys from Eight and Nine seem like threats," Sedna said from across the room, the first thing she'd said since dinnertime. Karamo and Violetta were assessing the cuteness of the younger tributes, and they had just about concluded that twelve-year-old Hall Silversmith was _clearly_ the most adorable when Sedna spoke up. "Both volunteers, both strong."

"I don't like the girls from Seven and Ten," Isaac said. "Especially not the girl from Seven. The look in her eyes is bad enough."

"She seems like a hard worker," Carlo commented. He could tell from her physique that she was a laborer, and she seemed to be very at ease with her mishap as she almost fell walking up to the stage. She caught herself and went along with the joke of it all. He wanted to get to know her, even if only a little bit, during the training process. He found himself hoping that she was his partner, actually.

"Career pack seems weak," Sedna said. "District One is out altogether, and I don't know who else we'd ask to join."

Carlo's brow furrowed as he let out a breathy chuckle. "You just said who," he reminded her. "The 'threats' from Eight and Nine, and maybe that girl from Seven." He got up from his seat, wanting to have time to think on his own for once. If Yue was here, he'd bounce his ideas and opinions off of her, but in absence of his best friend, he'd just have to let his thoughts run wild. As he passed Sedna, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Why wouldn't we want to keep our enemies close, my friend?"

He sat in the dining car, which their escort had mysteriously disappeared from. He seemed to be much more receptive to Sedna than to Carlo, which didn't matter to him. He'd get on his good side, hopefully without undermining Sedna's relationship with him too much.

He could hear the quiet, stilted conversation between Isaac and his partner floating into this car in bits and pieces.

"I think they'll have a good time appeasing the Capitol when Hall dies," Isaac mentioned, and Carlo couldn't hear Sedna's response. They started discussing the weird guy from Twelve and the attitude of the boy from Eleven, and Carlo didn't need to hear all of it to benefit from the snippets. He liked hearing others' opinions, even when they didn't much affect his already-established ones. It helped him to understand Isaac and Sedna themselves when he was able to piece together exactly where they were coming from about these tributes.

Eventually, his head found his way into his arms on the table, and he daydreamed about curling up with Arturo and Eli in his bed at Yue's house.

* * *

 **so this didn't actually have a lot of recapping and was more about the district 4 squad, but since intros were so long i didn't want to relive reapings in too much detail so i made it more about carlo & isaac & sedna. i actually intended it to be funnier and sillier since it's from carlo's pov when i first planned this, but then i thought about the Real Shit carlo might think and it turned into a more genuine chapter. w a little bickering from carlo & isaac**

 **we're getting partners together next chapter tho!**

 **chapter question: what do you predict the career pack will be like?**


	32. Work to Do

**Dazzle Carlton**

 _ **District One**_

Dazzle was pretty, she knew that for a fact. She commanded a presence because it was what she was good at. She captivated attention because it was how she had cultivated herself. Instead of being wealthy and strong, instead of training in swords and spears and the art of being airheaded or pretentious, Dazzle had perfected herself to be everything anyone wanted her to be.

But the moment she stepped into the room with her preparation team, she was swarmed with no way of telling what she needed to do to take control of the situation. They fawned over her eyes and her curly blonde hair, they frowned in concern at her unshaved legs, they patted her head and said in condescending, hissing voices that she shouldn't worry, they'd make her even more beautiful than she could ever dream of.

She was shaved and thrown into a chair with a sink behind it, tilted back so her hair fell into the bowl, and her head was vigorously massaged as they washed her hair. Someone at her feet had tugged her shoes and socks off and they were painting her toenails a shiny blue color. At this point, she was only wearing a bra and underwear, and while it wasn't like she'd never had control of a situation in which she was naked, she felt totally exposed here.

"Your name is so nice," one member of the team said. Her name was Donna and her hair was at least a foot tall above her head, but still managed to look feathery and light. "You know, everyone's saying that 'Dazzle' is a dying name trend, but I just think it reflects the _heart_ of District One so well, I think it's just wonderful."

"Donna's not all looks," Tiny—a very small and short man with a loud laugh—told her with a comparably reserved chuckle. "She knows her stuff, too!"

Eventually she was stripped down until she was wearing nothing, and she was given a silvery robe that felt like satin on her skin. She walked into a room away from the preparation team feeling like every other girl in District One. She felt flawlessly beautiful, something she knew she was always just shy of without the money to achieve it back home. She felt unconquerable, but still completely out of her element.

"Good afternoon," her stylist greeted her cordially as she fingered through a rack of dresses—none of which looked like chariot costumes. They were in what seemed to be a study-like room, and she wondered if the stylists were allowed to work here throughout off seasons to prepare looks for fashion lines or for future Games. It looked like it, from how homey this woman had made the room. She walked over to Dazzle and held out a hand dyed hot pink. She didn't have a lot of experience parsing out Capitol fashion, but she was pretty sure that was shoddy temporary dye on the woman's hand. "I'm Mikalangela."

Dazzle shook the woman's hand, taking in as much as she could see about the woman without obviously giving her a once-over. She seemed pretty formal, like she was used to high society, and absolutely obsessed with fashion. She had a lot of modifications that Dazzle had never seen before, so she assumed that Mikalangela kept up with all the newer trends. "Dazzle," she said, although she knew her stylist would know her name. "Can I ask what you have in mind?"

Mikalangela's eyes crinkled up, the wrinkles sticking out to Dazzle. Plenty of popular aging Capitolites got their wrinkles and other blemishes dealt with when they were as rich as a Games stylist, but apparently not hers. "Why don't I show you instead?" she asked mischievously, and motioned for Dazzle to go behind a heavy blue curtain in the corner.

* * *

Dazzle was guided out of the Tribute Center when she was dressed, and all of the tributes were being shown which chariot would be theirs. Dazzle walked past a lot of strong candidates, and for a brief, terrifying moment she thought they were going to show her to the chariot where a weak-looking tribute in a wheelchair was. But Mikalangela deposited her in the next empty chariot, and adjusted her hair just a bit before disappearing.

She couldn't tell from her outfit where the other tribute was from, although Mikalangela had told her that all the costumes this year would incorporate both districts in the partnership. It was honestly… shitty. She had tried to justify it in her head since the moment she laid her eyes on it, but she was just really disappointed. It was mostly just a really slutty dress. It had bright blue lacy ruffles around her boobs, and the neckline dropped all the way down to just above her belly button. The rest of the material was really nice and comfortable, and extremely shiny. It moved interestingly, she supposed, swishing around with every tiny movement and catching a lot of light. The bottom of it also had the same royal blue ruffles, and it just barely reached her fingertips when her arms were hanging down. Her heels were just the same royal blue as the ruffles, and were sort of velvety.

It was… boring. Not even Capitolesque, in her opinion. Her hair and makeup were normal. What the fuck was going on this year? Did she just have god awful luck?

She recognized her partner as soon as she saw him walking into the open space where the chariots and horses were being kept before they took off. Their outfits were clearly reflecting each other, much more than any other district she'd seen so far. It was the strong-looking boy from Eight, wearing the same silvery material with blue ruffles. His shirt was just a vest with nothing underneath, and his belt was lacy and blue, with two large puffy balls of the silver fabric hanging off on thin silver strings. She was pretty sure his shoes were just black tennis shoes.

Well, the outfits were horrible, but this wasn't so bad. He was from an outer district, but he looked very strong and put-together. As long as he wasn't obnoxious, she could live with this.

Before she opened her mouth to introduce herself, a hand clapped onto her bare shoulder and she whipped around to see District Four's prodigy waltzing up to them. "Good afternoon, Dazzle Carlton!" he said with a wide, toothy grin.

 _Fuck's sake!_

"And you?" Carloman Longstaff asked, giving Kubya a curtsy. A curtsy.

His outfit was nice, too, of course it was. His head was sticking out of a giant roundish fish with soft blue spikes, and he wore fishnets underneath the massive fish costume. The Capitol would love it.

"Oh." He glanced over at Dazzle, like she would know what to do. "Kubya Kaczka."

"Partnered with a Career, huh?" Carloman said good-naturedly. He put his arm around Kubya, smashing him into the ocean green fish costume. "This will be an interesting year, don't you think?"

It took Dazzle a moment to realize that he directed this at her. When she looked at him fully again, she just nodded and climbed into the chariot carefully. Already she could tell she wanted to be nowhere near him.

Kubya and Carloman talked for a moment in loud voices once her partner was comfortable with the intimidating face of a victor's son in front of him. She heard them talking about how Kubya got so strong, which she supposed she was interested in enough, if Carloman would just leave.

"Oh, you bake?" Carloman asked.

Kubya nodded, clearly trying not to be modest with his biceps hanging out of the silver and blue vest. "Yeah, there's a lot of lifting that has to be done at the bakery," he explained. "It's actually a kosher bakery, one of the only in Eight."

"Oh, that's cool, man." Carloman clapped him on the shoulder with a sincere smile. He was clearly the strongest contender in the fucking arena, and he was actually making friends with this District Eight baker? Just over him bragging about his Jewish bakery? It was kind of neat, but not enough for her to care.

"Hey, I should head up, but be nice to Miss Carlton," Carloman said, nodding chivalrously over to her. She pursed her lips and waved at him. If she was going to make her place in the Career pack, she'd have to do what she planned all along: manipulate them. And she couldn't do that if they all hated her.

But after Kubya and Carloman said goodbye with a fucking chest bump, she decided… maybe letting the Gamemakers kill her would be worth it, if she could kill Kubya.

* * *

 **Audrey Simmons**

 _ **District Three**_

Audrey hadn't been able to focus since they put bright yellow fishnet over zeir face. Zey supposed that the costume this year was technology-related, although zey could see very clearly that zeir partner was from one of the agriculture-based districts. There were purplish leaves hanging off various points of zeir brightly-colored jumpsuit, and zeir jacket seemed to be a screen. It kept flashing different colors and making disturbing noises, like when technology glitched and sparked.

Zeir partner was waiting at their carriage before zey left the throng of tributes being guided around or clinging awkwardly to their district partners over their unfamiliar Quell partners. Audrey and Ferrin had left the Tribute Center at the same time, but zey didn't feel attached enough to the kid to stay close to him. He was nice, and zey pitied such a young and small boy being reaped, but zey wanted to survive, too.

Zey couldn't remember which district zeir partner was, which zey realized when he held his hand out to introduce himself. "I'm Icho Griffith," he told zem. "You're from District Three, right?"

Zey were pretty sure that the proper thing to do was to acknowledge that zey knew where Icho Griffith was from too, but zey hadn't paid that close of attention to the recaps. Well, zey did, but only to the people who zey _hoped_ zeir partner would be, and Icho didn't make the list.

"Yeah. I'm Audrey," zey said. Zey ran a hand over zeir head, a nervous habit of zeirs, and it shifted the fishnet around zeir head and face off to the side. Zey inhaled in irritation and tried to fix it.

"Yeah, I don't see how this is a mixture of Eleven and Three," Icho said, but he seemed more giddy about it than anything else. Not extremely irritated like Audrey was—even though zeir stylist didn't seem awful. Originally zeir outfit was planned so zeir prosthetic stuck out and was lit up, for whatever reason, but when Audrey said that made zem uncomfortable, the stylist went into a frenzy to fix it.

"I guess the leaves are Eleven," Audrey said. Much more of Icho's outfit was plant-based than Audrey's. Off his shoulders were several branches bearing apples, with fairy lights twisted around them. It all looked so tacky. Audrey could see what the stylists were _going_ for, but maybe their plants were all fucked by the district combinations.

"It's so stupid." Icho looked down at himself and laughed, leaning his head back so it leaned against against the glowing apple tree he was sprouting. "These Games are a joke. It's awesome!"

Audrey's shoulders tensed up a little bit. Zey got the feeling that Icho was going to annoy the shit out of zem, if only because zey didn't understand what he was saying at all. "It's not awesome," zey said. "Who's going to sponsor us like this?"

"Who cares?" Icho's laughter died off, but his smile didn't. He turned to Audrey more fully, glancing around for a second. "They're sabotaging themselves. Especially with all the District One nonsense. The people are standing up _again._ Do you think they can handle a third uprising in only two centuries?"

Audrey blinked. "Uh, yeah, I do, actually."

Icho drew back away from zem, like zey had punched him in his arrogant face. Now zey knew that he was going to piss zem off. It was just zeir luck that zey would get partnered with a rebel who was undoubtedly going to quickly lose the Capitol's favor with his whiny, holier-than-thou rebel remarks. The Gamemakers would be eager to wipe him off the map, and wouldn't care if Audrey was quickly killed too.

Audrey didn't want any more conversation between them, so zey walked slowly up to the front of the chariot where the very well-behaved horses were, slowly stepping back and forth but not trying to leave their ties or jostle the chariots. Audrey didn't actually know how horses acted, so maybe these were averagely-behaved horses. They seemed pleasant, though, for being so big. Zey reached zeir hand out toward the one on the left, a big brown one, and stroked the side of its face. Zeir heart rate picked up the pace considerably when it jerked its head to the side slightly, after only letting Audrey stroke it for a moment.

"Okay," zey whispered to zemself. So no one was on zeir side here, not even the horse. Zey just wished anything had gone right this week. Zey wished that zey could at least think back to home and know that they would be okay no matter what, but not even that was possible. Because Ivan had to be missing.

He was either seriously hurt, or he'd tried to run away. Which meant he was either going to end up dead if they didn't find him, or he was going to be imprisoned for skipping out on the reaping. It made zeir stomach sick to think about. If zey made it home to Three, the first thing zey'd do was ask about him, and zey knew that there was no good answer.

Why even try?

* * *

 **Judah Tines**

 _ **District Six**_

Judah was one of the first tributes out of the Center. Their stylist pointed up to the sixth chariot back and wished them good luck before he disappeared.

He was a really nice guy. He took into consideration that Judah bound their chest, and the outfit he had planned for them was already pretty gender neutral. The outfit kind of sucked, but they hadn't expected anything spectacular. A lot of the chariot costumes turned out pretty less than great, from what Judah remembered on television.

They weren't sure if they should go out to their chariot yet or not. The only ones who were already there were the furthest-back pair. They couldn't see both of them, but it looked like one of them was the boy from Thirteen. They only remembered him from recaps because he seemed kind, but also strong. That was something they would want in a partnership, but apparently he was already taken by the boy sitting next to him.

They wondered what it would be like if this was something that they could all choose. All the Careers would be pairing up as fast as they could, the District Fours hooking up with the District Twos, and probably the smaller girl from One would have to find an outer-district person to rope into the alliance for her to have any purchase in it all. The boy from One, who may as well have been a rich kid from any non-Career district, would be left to fend for himself.

Who would Judah choose? They would try to talk to the boy from Thirteen, or maybe the girl from Seven. She didn't seem like the kind of person Judah would get along with, though. She seemed way too confident on the reaping stage, and Judah was way too scared of all of this. They would probably just get in the girl's way.

"Are we partners?"

Judah turned around and saw the girl from Five lit up in what started as a purple glowing gown, but around the legs transformed into uncomfortable-looking poofy pantlegs. Judah glanced down at themself: their outfit glittered a bit, and was loose and flowy around them. But they didn't see as much resemblance as there was between the boys in the back chariot.

"Oh, um, I don't know," they said. They pointed to the carriage that they'd been told was theirs. "That's where I'm supposed to be."

The girl squinted a bit—maybe she needed glasses she couldn't afford back home—and pointed at each chariot, counting back from the front and mouthing numbers to herself. She seemed really lost, and maybe a little bit younger than Judah. "Oh, no. Sorry," she said. She started to walk away but stopped herself. "Sorry. I'm Natalia."

Judah didn't want this conversation to continue. They weren't partners, and they didn't know how long it would be before they all had to board for the ceremony. It just wasn't the time for a conversation right now. "I'm Judah," they told her anyway, because they weren't exactly going to be outright rude.

"Do you want to be allies?" Natalia asked.

Judah's heart clenched anxiously and time started to race. They couldn't take forever to answer, but their gut response was _no._ Natalia seemed like a perfectly normal person, but she was way too blunt for Judah's liking, and it wasn't early enough to be forming alliances. What if they told her yes now, and later on changed their mind? Would Natalia kill them in the bloodbath to get revenge or something? That sounded extreme, but what if?

It was a race against time to find the best excuse they possibly could.

"I'm actually…" Judah swallowed down their pride. "I really don't want to burden you, so I think before I give you an answer, you should think about my downfalls."

"You're actually what?" Natalia asked coolly, unaware or undisturbed by how weird Judah was being. Was she just strange herself? Or was she messing with Judah because it was easy to mess with them?

They felt so bad for lying already, but they didn't want to be rude to Natalia. Maybe later they would be allies, but Judah felt like they needed to see what training was like at least. They had to have some kind of strategy. They wanted to ask Athena and Oscar if allying with a younger tribute like Natalia would be a good idea before they made any sort of decisions.

"I'm— vegan," they blurted out. They weren't, but they remembered when their sister Lia had talked about vegan trends in pre-Panem history. Judah had never met a vegan in their life, and they weren't sure if it was a dead thing or not. Maybe it wasn't in Five, and it would be a believable excuse, but in case it wasn't, they wanted to get as far away from Natalia as possible. "I actually— my partner is calling me over."

Judah still didn't see anyone at their chariot, but they saw Balisong wheeling themself to theirs, so they hurried over to the familiar face.

"Someone just asked me to be allies so I told her I'm vegan," they said impulsively. They felt comfortable around Balisong. Since they had the pronouns thing in common, it sort of felt like they were in this together to Judah, even though they couldn't win together.

Balisong quickly crooked their wheelchair to the side, stopping their wheeling in place to look up at Judah. "What?" They ran a hand over their face, which made Judah want to draw into themself. Were they irritated? They shouldn't have told Balisong about that; now they were just going to get embarrassed.

"Nothing, never mind," Judah said in frustration. They tried not to show it in their voice, but they definitely sounded short. They went over to their chariot and sat in the carriage, crossing their arms and trying to focus on not crying over something ridiculous like this situation. There were clearly much bigger pictures to focus on here.

But they had just fucked up the only person who was going to ask them to ally, honestly, and there was no way they would ally with Balisong. Their district partner probably thought they were incredibly weird now, and anyway, they tended to be kind of cold to Judah. Or that was how it seemed, anyway, and Judah was too sick of dealing with awfulness in Six to deal with someone with a bad attitude in the arena, too.

They would just have to make it on their own.

* * *

 **Sin Adams**

 _ **District Seven**_

"Welcome, welcome, one and all," Sin muttered underneath his breath as he stood in front of the mirror, looking at the outfit that his stylist had just subjected him to. He was wearing a big fur coat, something that he was sure his mother would fawn over. He wasn't sure exactly how it related to District Seven until his stylist came up behind him with a jacket fashioned out of what looked like twigs and leaves, with wide open holes to see the fur coat underneath. He was also wearing a flower crown over his wispy white hair, and cooler sunglasses than the ones he came with.

"What was that?" Gene asked. Sin wasn't sure what it stood for, but it was way too bland to be its own name for a Capitol stylist. That was what he insisted on being called, though, and Sin wasn't one to question why someone preferred a nickname.

"Nothing." He turned around

Sin just shrugged as he turned back around. He felt like he looked ridiculous, and he wondered what his partner was going to look like. And who they were going to be.

He hoped it wasn't a Career. He felt like maybe he could even deal with a little kid, but he was sure that a Career would just send their district partner to kill him and get him out of the way.

"Are you ready to face the world?" Gene asked with a grin on his face. He held his hands outstretched in front of him, a grand gesture to Sin's costume. "You look amazing, darling. District Seven is going to _shine_ this year." He stepped forward and ran a hand through Sin's hair. He was sure that his stylist was going to do something with it, since it was just sitting on his head like a fluffy mess, but Gene said he liked the way it looked. That would make one of them there.

He wished it wasn't so white, as he had every single time he'd tried and failed to dye it before. But it hit him: he was in the Capitol now, where they had real hair dye, and he didn't have to pay shit for it since he was one of their Hunger Games victims.

They started to walk out of the Tribute Center, out in the hallway toward the elevators. He was going to ask Gene what he thought about dying his hair, but another handful of districts were also riding down with them. The District Nine boy and both from District Ten, he was pretty sure, were heading down with their stylists, everyone sitting in complete silence. Except for the stylists, who started chattering amongst each other, complimenting their peers' work.

When they were away from the others on the main level, all of them exiting to the city circle at different paces, Sin swallowed down his anxiety over asking such a simple question. "Hey, Gene," he started, and his stylist pulled his eyes away from the lines of chariots and horses. Sin could hear the dull roar of Capitolites sitting out in the stadium seats lining the city streets for occasions like these. "What do you think about dying my hair? For the interviews and stuff?"

Gene's eyes lit up excitedly. "Oh, you'd let me? Really? Any color? That would be great, Brooksin." He moved closer to Sin and put an arm around his shoulders as he guided him toward his place in the order. "We could really work with that, make it _wonderful_ —"

He interrupted Gene's gushing before it went on too long. "Sin," he told him. "Call me Sin, not Brooksin."

"Oh!" Gene's eyebrows shot up. "I can do that. I apologize, Sin."

"You didn't know." He even gave Gene a bit of a half-smile. "Thank you. Right here?"

He looked up at the chariot they'd stopped at after Gene nodded. His stylist slipped away, going back to socialize with the others in the back. Sin recognized his partner as being from Eight, a pretty average-looking kid maybe a little bit younger than him with glasses and something similarly ridiculous on for their costume. Sin didn't hop into the chariot yet, but he held his hand out to shake.

"Hey, I'm Sin," he said. "District Seven." Was that necessary? He wasn't sure, because there was a chance his partner would remember from recaps, and even if they didn't, it didn't change much. They weren't going to refer to him as _Sin from Seven._

"Patch," they answered, a little quietly considering how loud it was out there. They shook hands and Sin stood awkwardly next to their carriage, wanting to pet the pretty horses but unsure if that would make him weird to his partner. A handful of the tributes already out there were standing away from their chariots altogether, closer to the Tribute Center, mostly hanging around their district partners. He didn't know where Wilda was, and he didn't know if he cared to. She intimidated him.

"Hey, I'm gonna…" He trailed off and wandered back to where the mass of other tributes stood. There was no one to talk to over there, but he felt less uncomfortable standing in silence and observing here rather than next to Patch when they weren't talking. They were a good partner, though. Sin wasn't disappointed. They didn't look weak or strong, just kind of like a really average person, and average was something Sin could be happy with. He wasn't much different than average either, really. Other than the fact that he had to wear his sunglasses all the time.

Someone bumped into Sin—not hard enough to knock him down, but enough to jostle him. He turned to see who it was, startled more than annoyed, and saw it was the guy from the elevator, the one from Nine. He had been talking to his district partner, it seemed, and wasn't paying attention to where he was going.

"Sorry," he said, over and over again as he held his hands out in placation.

"Hey, it's okay," Sin said. The guy's district partner looked between them with wild eyes, like she also expected Sin to snap on him. "It was an accident, right?"

The guy nodded. "Yeah, I should've been looking—"

"It's okay," he insisted, feeling bad now that the guy felt so bad. "I'm Sin." He held his hand out to shake again. Maybe he'd feel better if Sin introduced himself, made things friendly. Cole would be proud of him for being so nice. And Morrell and Lucy would probably tease him for not acting super _cool._

"I'm Kyle," the guy answered. His district partner trailed off. Kyle glanced over at her for a second before turning back to Sin. "I should probably go…"

Sin nodded. He hated being given so much attention over something as small as being bumped into. He just hated extra attention at all, so he was grateful that his costume seemed no better or worse than many of the others out here.

When Kyle was gone, Sin finally felt he could consider him without being weirder than he already was. He had a really strong jaw and… okay, _dreamy_ eyes. He was hot. Sin would definitely have a mini crush on him if he was back home.

He wasn't back home, though. He went over to his chariots, ready to sit in awkward silence with Patch in case any other hot guys wanted to bump into him. It was stupid to even be so nice to him. It was stupid to be nice to anyone but Patch. He crossed his arms once he was in his chariot, slumping back against the seat and putting his feet up in front of him. This was more like _Sin,_ the cool guy that everyone around him saw. This was where he felt safe, shielded from the nice Kyles and the intimidating Wildas. This was where he'd force himself to remain until he stepped out of the arena.

* * *

 **Emma Locke**

 _ **District Ten**_

James wanted to make friends here. She'd watched him make polite conversation with four other tributes at this point, as the two of them stood out of the way and watched others make their way over to their carriages. When he first met his Games partner, he was exceptionally sweet to her. Emma thought that was fair enough, because the girl was only twelve, if she remembered correctly. But then he was super sweet to Emma's partner too, when she tapped on Emma's shoulder to ask if they were sharing a chariot.

And then he was nice to the guy from Four, the fucking _Career_ , when he came over and patted them both on the shoulders, saying jovially, "How are you two? You're twins, right? That's exciting! Not with this Quell twist, though."

Emma was glaring at him like it could strike him dead right there. She prayed to deities she didn't believe in for a bolt of lightning to bring him quickly and loudly out of existence, and felt bitter anger when she looked up at the sky and saw nothing but cloudless black.

"Yeah, the twist sucks," James said timidly.

The Career squeezed James's shoulder and Emma tensed up. She watched how he moved closely. It would be ridiculous of him to try to hurt one of the other tributes before they got to the arena—everyone knew that was against one of the very few rules—but she didn't like the energy this guy had around her naive brother. She couldn't do anything if he decided to hurt James, though. The guy was a tank.

"I'm sorry about that," the Career said. He patted James shoulder and walked off, giving them finger guns as he walked away. "Good luck to you guys, anyway! You look great!"

Emma turned to James and punched him in the shoulder. That guy wasn't allowed to lay a hand on her brother, but she could give him a bruise any day of the week. That was how it _should_ work—he shouldn't be allowed to kill either of them.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him. "Jesus, James!"

He turned to her with a frown, rubbing the spot she'd hit. "Hey," he muttered under his breath. He looked down at his bare shoulder like she'd hit it hard enough to cause any immediate serious energy. "I'm just talking to the people."

"You're going to get close to them, like you _always_ do, and then how are we going to kill them?" she said. James just… needed to be more like her for once. She had endured him begging for her to be more outgoing their entire lives. She had listened to his every single plea as he wasted all of their time wanting her to be better, and it was finally time for him to fucking sit down and realize that she was protecting him.

He could be pissed at her all he wanted. She had heard enough of it on the train ride over, from James and their mentor. Their escort thought her volunteering was a spicy twist of events, but the other two barraged her for hours about how stupid it was, and she _knew that_ —she knew it as soon as it was over, and she knew her parents were miserable, and she knew that if she died and James didn't he was going to feel awful, _she got all of it!_ It was taking all of her energy not to let this outburst pour out of her. She couldn't break down or scream with all of these other tributes watching. All she could do was snap at her brother, and punch him in the arm, and take deep breaths to avoid crying.

"Well, I'm not going to kill anyone," James said, holding his chin up all high and mighty, and the arrogant little idiot started to march toward his chariot like she was going to let that slide.

The parade was really going to start soon now, but she couldn't just let him walk away on that _dumbass_ comment. She grabbed his arm and twisted her brother so he had to listen. "Ex _cuse me?_ "

"I'm not going to kill anyone unless I absolutely have to," he told her again, as if that fucking answered any of her unasked questions. "You heard me the first time."

She threw her hands up in the air, and didn't care that some of the other people around them were starting to notice that they were arguing. Whatever, _she_ wasn't here to make friends. They could think whatever they wanted about her and James.

"So you just want to get us killed, is that it?" Emma asked him.

James shook his head and wiped quickly at his eyes. Emma felt herself deflate, but she couldn't let this go just because James was crying. But shit, James was crying, and that made her feel awful. "Yeah, well, you've already done that," he whispered, and turned around to get on his chariot. This time she let him go, planted in that same spot with her eyes tilted up at the sky for at least a minute.

 _Don't cry_ , she told herself, over and over again, until she was no longer at risk of it. She went over to her chariot but didn't get on yet. She didn't want to talk to Divya, and she didn't know exactly when they'd be taking off. She dug her fingernails into her hand and focused on that, letting her mind go blank and her face turn stony. James wasn't going to help them win at all, so she needed to look like competition enough for the both of them.

* * *

 **Carion Ferron Coal**

 _ **District Twelve**_

Carion was bored with all of the tributes. The Careers talked to each other closer to the front of the row of chariots, with some tributes sitting in the back talking to their district partners. Carion wanted to get in their heads, but he couldn't get a read on any of them if they were all avoiding each other like they'd catch cooties if they mingled between district and Quell pairs.

He realized his partner was the girl from District Seven when she walked up to the chariot he was sitting on, staring at him with slightly raised eyebrows. On the one hand, he was very pleased. She was a tank, and would probably be a damn good fighter. On the other, why was she looking at him like _that?_

"I'm Wilda," she said, climbing into the chariot.

Carion nodded to her, holding out a hand politely. She was the only person he would tolerate here, no matter how awful she was. When she shook his hand, he told her, "I'm Carion."

Her eyebrows knit together and her lips turned up in a look of questioning. "What, like flesh?" she asked.

" _What?_ " Where did that even come from? "'Like flesh'?"

She nodded, looking past him as she did so. She came off as _really_ cocky, and he had only been around her for a few moments. He guessed that wasn't the worst—he could knock her down a few levels—but he was still really confused about what the fuck she meant.

"Carion, like _flesh_ ," he repeated to her slowly. Maybe she needed the extra time to process what he was saying. Maybe she didn't realize what she just said made no fucking sense.

She laughed a little bit. He could read people well enough to see that she wasn't trying to be rude or demeaning to him, she was just genuinely fucking entertained about something. So for a moment Carion thought she was just in on this weird joke with herself, but then she said, "You've had this name your entire life and you didn't ever connect these dots?" When he just raised his eyebrows at her, impatient, she explained, "Carrion means, like, dead flesh, buddy."

Carion blinked at her. How was he supposed to know that? No one went around calling rotting birds on the sidewalk _carrion._ It wasn't like anyone else had walked up to someone who could easily fuck up their life in District Twelve and called him rotting flesh, although he was sure there were a _plethora_ of people who would like to. Now she was going to be smug about this, he could sense it. Well, he'd nip that at the bud.

"You think it's appropriate to call people rotting flesh, and you don't expect anyone to be confused?" he asked, like he'd known all along that he understood what she was saying. It was the only way he could think to get the high ground on her.

She rolled her eyes with a little smirk and faced forward, crossing her arms over her costume. "Don't pretend you knew."

Well, he couldn't just childishly insist that he had.

"You know, I thought I had met uncultured filth back in District Twelve," he threw back at her. She had already tried to humiliate him and they hadn't been interacting for five minutes. Why not aim high? Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, but she physically could not kill him without dying in the Games, so he felt pretty safe.

He didn't need her help. It was only a bonus. He'd have his victory wrapped around his finger tighter than all the tributes he'd con before the first training day was over.

"Wow," she said under her breath. "I got lucky, didn't I."

There was a jolt through the crowd as all the tributes got on their chariots, with the Opening Ceremonies about to begin. It was going to be a fun ride, he was _sure_ of it.

* * *

 **sorry for the long wait, i've gotten busy again so i'll probably have slow updates for the time being. next chapter is gonna be a shorter one tho so it won't take this long!**

 **since not all of the partners are explained here, here they are:**

Hall & Carlo

Neha & Abilene

Ferrin & Judah

Sedna & Rachel

Natalia & Balder

Balisong & Kyle

Sin & Patch

Kubya & Dazzle

Divya & Emma

James & Emerson

Icho & Audrey

Carion & Wilda

Aren & Zeke

 **i'm super excited to officially be in Capitol events and to announce the partnerships! let me know what you think. which partnership are you most surprised/excited about?**

 **chapter question: which partnership do you think will hate each other the most? which do you think will get along best?**


	33. Little Comforts: Chariots

**i have some important info to dump at the end of the chapter!**

* * *

 **Aren Turing**

 _ **District Five**_

Aren and his partner were at the back of the pack of tributes entering the Opening Ceremonies. He could see the crowd waiting for them beyond the building and the massive canopy hanging over it, but it was something else entirely to enter into the wide open space of the city circle, moonlight and street lamps and the glow of the massive television screen casting a bluish white beam over them. It made him feel kind of ethereal, for a split second. He saw many of the other tributes before them waving their hands, smiling, getting swept up despite the apparent costume catastrophe this year was experiencing.

It was like he wasn't in the Games. It was like he was suddenly a celebrity, skipping the murder game for a life of glitz and glam without lifelong trauma. Maybe it was best to let himself dive headfirst into this fantasy, to prevent any genuine panic that being flaunted in front of this many people might cause otherwise.

He heard the announcer's voice booming over speakers that he couldn't see: "Aren Turing of District Five and Ezekiel Avira of District Thirteen have entered our circle, everyone!"

That was him. That was them. He glanced over at Ezekiel and realized how wide his eyes were. He must have looked so stupid. He shrunk in on himself and turned back out to the crowd.

The two of them had shared a stunted, awkward conversation before they took off. Ezekiel seemed nice, but Aren had no idea what he was supposed to say to him. He didn't want to know him, even if they could win together. It would make him sick to his stomach if he liked the guy and then had to watch him kill people.

"It's disgusting," Ezekiel muttered.

At the same time, Aren blurted out, "It's kind of beautiful," as he caught sight of a father with bright blue skin hefting his little, relatively unaltered daughter onto his shoulders. Her hair was in bright pink pigtails.

The two of them looked over at each other. Oh god. Were they not going to get along? Disliking each other seemed almost worse than being friends.

They ran over a little bump and Aren lost his balance. They had put him in really unstable shoes, despite the fact that the Capitolites wouldn't even be able to see them from where he was standing in the carriage. He nearly tipped over the side and onto the street, and he might have, if it weren't for Ezekiel jumping forward to wrap an arm around his middle. Aren was tugged back into the carriage in the split second before he was a goner, an embarrassing lump of scraped knees and bruised pride on the cobble of the Capitol's most prestigious street.

Ezekiel let go of him quickly and as Aren turned around to face him, Karamo Morningstar's chuckle reached every viewer in the country of Panem. "Looks like Mr. Avira is already looking out for his teammate! Miss Bane, can we get a recap on that?"

Of course they would play his fall over and over.

"Thank you," he said, and then said it again because he realized he'd said it so quietly that Ezekiel didn't hear it.

"Just didn't want you to fall."

Aren nodded and looked out at the crowd. He could feel tears blurring his vision and sitting at the edge of his eyelid, but the end of the ceremony was close. It wasn't that far of a ride to the city center, where the president would steal everyone's attention.

He felt his partner's eyes on him and he looked away to wipe at his own. He didn't want the eyeliner they made him wear to run. Did eyeliner run? He had seen tributes with dark streaks down their faces because of crying with Capitol makeup on before.

At least it wasn't all the makeup they had wanted to cake on his face originally. When he first saw his stylist team coming at him with brushes and powders, he physically flinched away. It made his stomach turn to think of how feminine they might have made him look if they hadn't caught on.

"Don't cry," Ezekiel said quickly, almost the moment Aren's hand raised to wipe at his watery eyes. Aren sniffled and tried to push aside any sign that he wanted to cry, but he didn't trust his voice. If he spoke, he might end up sobbing immediately. "They're not going to think of your fall tonight. Other tributes have had more embarrassing shit happen—it doesn't stick with them."

Aren thought back to last year. He couldn't remember a single embarrassing thing that a tribute did that the Capitol really hyperfocused on, but he realized that that was the point. They focused on strengths and weaknesses, drama, _entertainment._ Not the kind of shit that kept Aren up at night back home.

It shouldn't help as much as it did; after all, this comfort basically amounted to, _They're focusing more on how you're going to die than how you almost fell_. But it made the entire trip through the Opening Ceremonies much less mortifying, even without nearly launching off the chariot. His ridiculous outfit and eyeliner would be talked about, but no more talked about than all the other tributes'. It wasn't time to worry yet, so maybe it was best if he tried not to.

"Thank you," Aren said. He let out a breath, and it was almost a laugh. Or at least, it was almost a halfhearted chuckle. "Again."

"We're partners," Ezekiel reminded him, but it sounded like he was trying to go back to being gruff and surly. Trying and failing a little bit. "You can call me Zeke, by the way. If I hadn't said already."

"Oh, okay." Aren made a note of that. Zeke. It was a little less grand and intimidating than speaking to Ezekiel, which seemed like it belonged to someone far more detached and imposing than Zeke was proving himself to be. "Well, um, howdy."

Zeke tilted his head at him and barely contained a confused smile, while Aren's face got hotter than the center of a volcano, or the sun. "Oh," he said after a moment, shutting his eyes in amused irritation at the lame joke. "Because… partners."

"I have a friend who likes old American things like that," Aren explained, holding the back of his neck awkwardly.

Zeke looked down at the front of their carriage as he smiled, starting to shake his head a little bit. "You're lucky I'm pretty used to stupid jokes, Aren Turing." He gave his head one final shake, ridding himself of Aren's awful attempt at doing anything other than falling and crying in front of his Games partner. Aren couldn't look away as he disappeared back into himself, focusing in on the crowd again. He was a different person entirely when he was facing the Capitol, rather than when he was comforting and pity-laughing at Aren.

It made him feel good, almost, to know that Zeke would hold off on being so detached for him. That he would be a little softer in front of Aren.

They were in the Hunger Games, and Aren could use all the softness he could get. Even if he didn't want to be friends with Zeke.

They reached the end of the ride, and their horses were halted in their place to watch the president begin the One Hundredth Hunger Games officially. Aren didn't like the way the president looked. She wasn't like a Capitolite, really. She was altered in some ways, but she almost looked like a normal rich person in the districts. It was close to being… approachable. But Aren knew who she really was: a woman who ran this country full of children killing each other, and district people dying, and a constant threat over anyone who wanted it to be any other way. He didn't speak up on politics ever—how could he, when he had so many other things to think of back home?—but he couldn't feel anything other than _pissed_ when she gave her presidential blessing to all twenty-six of them. Gave her blessing for them to kill each other.

The ride back to the Tribute Center was more subdued, as the Capitolites had largely had their fill of them for the night, but the performance wasn't entirely over. Still, neither Aren nor Zeke bothered to wave at the crowd. They wouldn't be favorites for that, but Aren couldn't see himself being a favorite no matter what.

When they reached the Tribute Center again, Aren hopped out of the chariot and looked back at Zeke as he climbed down. "I guess I'll see you in the morning, partner," Zeke said, reaching out his hand.

Aren looked down at it before he shook it, like it was some kind of threat he needed to assess. He liked Zeke, but he had to keep a level head, even next to tall, kind boys like this one. "See you, Zeke."

Zeke's grip was firm in the shake, and it felt like some kind of promise: they were going to be a team, Aren's worries were unwarranted, the two of them were going to face this side-by-side. But everything wasn't going to be okay, and he couldn't let himself think so just because everything had turned out alright tonight.

He turned away, exhaling long and slow as he braced himself for the next chapter.

* * *

 **so here's a chapter about aren being really nervous and cute!**

 **also... i now have a forum for SYOTs! you can talk about this one or really any of them there, including your own if you have one that you'd like to discuss and promote. it's going to be a safe, inclusive forum for syot writers and readers, so if you're interested, check out my profile for the link!**

 **also i know i said this chapter wasn't going to take long but a bitch has gotta nap constantly**


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